flies too high for others
Caught in mid-motion
angst proportional druthers
A sense to be soaring
though be it with rage
Let the score on the canvas
hop on to the page
If a cleared head makes irony
scale upon scale
Who's to say that the tooth
needs to follow the nail?
From binary, finery,
take pieces apart
And finish much later
what thought pulled apart
As we gaze from the marble
a flute in our hand
Makes a welcomed envision
for a brush to crash land
A story repeated in
hundreds of ways
Tells not what the eye sees
but a fuelled heart portrays
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