Currents,

Carry me up. Up. Like autumn leaves in the sky.

My art brings me back to life.

A poet lives in exile, but i breath in songs.

 

I feel uplifted when i'm on my feet,

Reading my poems at a steady beat

Squirming under the light’s heat

Heart speeding rapidly.

 

Uplifted, i am.

Spilling my contents

I am ill content

But i am happy.

 

I’d rather write beauty in sand

Than blasphemy in stone.

My best works are the ones left unknown

 

The starving artist has plenty food

The starving artist has a heart impossible to satisfied.

Easy to excite and inspire.

I am at ease when i write.