It seems,
He knows of times he hasn't seen,
He's been to places he hasn't been.
It would only be natural
To lay on the ground and blossom.
His voice,
Is the wind blowing in cold crevices,
With the warmth of the sun on terraces.
It would only be natural
To talk to everything living.
He writes,
With numb fingers, with flair.
You'd feel as though you were there.
It would only be natural,
To marvel at your gray life.
He thinks,
In a way that you couln't think,
Limited as you are to print and ink.
It would only be natural
To want to be him.
This too is inspired by another person i know. He never ceases to fascinate me.
2 comments:
to lay on the ground and blossom: that's a powerful image right there.
*hugs*
i don't know whom you are talking about but the person concerned must feel honoured and at the same time flattered by your ode. you use strange yet powerful imagery
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