Sigh For Her

I am but a knight with many swords.
I have wounded many canvases, for poetry is the art I thrash.
As I withdraw my sword sober my hand so that I may pierce the clouds, letting vigorous passion drip from my fingertips.

Oh how I sigh for her.

May poetry spew my flesh
Would you be the clouds to absorb me so that I may rain again? Dripping to this earth. Will your soul find me and through your body feeling all your passion.

I sigh for her.

May I be the tear that drips your eye?I would be the poetry running the page of your face.
The beauty of these words do not compare to the page that they rest upon.
May every rain drop that drips be the passion of my fingertips?

Sigh.

I will withdraw my sword and thrash and trash and thrash these years of my own battle,

As I blanket this soul in the green hairs of Earth another canvas comes another cloud hovers.
God give me the strength, through this battle to thrash and pierce this night.

Am I ever to be wounded?

For if sorrow for a lost lover was a wound,
May I be the never healing shadow that canes his walk? Exchanging this mighty sword that pierces the clouds, for a cane that arches this floor.

Still, still then my battered fingertips would drip passion so black you would smell the night.
So red you would taste my passion.
So clear you would swear these words were on a cloud, dripping just for you.
So as this cloud hovers your head and drips rain upon your face,
Oh, how I pray I may be the poetry running this page.
This color filled bow, this golden trail leading to a penny.
For I am only a thought.

I am only a tear in the sea,
A lost lover.

I sigh for her.