Arrows Shooting Through
Shall you find the secret in my art?
Back to the beginning, look at the start!
Her name is the disguise, upon gazing eyes.
Try and you might not find, where my love lies.
In my head, she burns the threads,
she draws my life as if turning the dead,
stroking her brush onto wordless words,
a sword in their hands cannot undo our words.
For the poems which we draw may become fine,
She's the artist who does not hide the rhyme,
who is the truth, life, and art inside.
As you do search the ink filled lines,
unto you see, my canvas coming alive!
So then all knowing may know how our hearts unfold.