Tale Of The Inker

How they fondled your stitched heart
messing up your beautiful mind like public toilets
Unapologetically drawing water from the forbidden wells of your eyes
split generously on pages that never belched!

They cut deep like razors
watching you bleed
With a balm to heal the wounds with just a line shrouded in riddles.

They made you lust for adventures beyond the cliched breasts of mother earth
You looked at the stars a debtor
that owed tales of travels to earthlings.

They turned pot holes to oil wells
Grey and ash flocked gloriously with Ophir gold and sapphire
They tickled the wings in your soul you never knew cried to soar you

Kings grew lustful
and made courtiers of the weavers of words
keeping them like silk worms
for royal robes.
Subtly, desire fell a seed on the good ground of your heart
You eyed the pen
Like an envious general the sceptre of a boy king.

Words. Only you heard the whisper
that called your name that night
your feet dancing to the musical silence
that called you to places
to hatch a dream never known was heaven's
Nature gave you a paintbrush and a canvass
asking you to paint her nude.

Words; Your magic!
Ink was the cheapest potion
to conjure a seance with the old familiar faces of lost yesteryear,
moon walk in time,
and live lavishly in the future with ease by treasures stolen from the
troves of regret and pain
You were blown away
You flew your light spirit to the realms of light
for scrolls Understanding gives.

Here you are on the circle of your world
beholding as a lord
the plains of the soul
where your creations live the you
too vast for a lifetime to be lived.

- Martins Deep

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