As Desired


To make stories we transform words into worlds.
Twisting constanents into continents.
Replacing thoughts with action.
Scabs heal and create scars;
A mark of experience in the block of life we carve.
Earth doesn’t care for the dead that’s buried here.
No, it’s the people that only do,
For every lie is not barren of truth,yet
are constructed of half truths.
From weak minds, and creatures sharp of tooth.
Words rushed forth from your mouth,
Like fog rising from a lake.
Expressions of guilt.
As tired tongue cramps and pupils dilate.
Life’s cycle complete, a soul departs the dead.
Lost in transition, from mind, to hand, to pen.
A familiar pulse dulls, the heart begins to retire.
Yet, the ink bleeds through the page just As Desired.

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