A poets pen
An artists brush
Paint pictures
That abound on lush
I paint of sunsets
And the dawn
Where birds sing sweetly
In the morn
Pressing her crimson lips
Upon my horizon grey
I will not hold
She will not stay
The torment
Of a lovers grief
Stolen by
An artful thief
The tears
The hunger pangs of love
Just cast on wing
Of turtle dove
Am I a heartless
Womanising whore,
Who simply craves
For more and more?
I trace the rainbow
In the rain
Plant seeds within
For heartfelt gain
The notches
on my bedpost blur
My heartless soul
My face demure
She now
Consigned to history
Her world of wants
A mystery
