Dancing upon the paper,
Are the words that will shape her
To be known, not by appearance,
But by words and endearments
Writing the feelings of her life,
Just like butter and a hot knife
These words seem to slip through,
Dancing into their hearts too
But not just words are shown,
Pictures are more than just a tone
A tone of peace, and definition,
Maybe one day of recognition
As she used a pencil to define,
She balances upon a thin line
One between a world of fantasy,
And one of true transparency
And though many know of this world,
They cannot perform The Dance Of Art
YOU ARE READING
The Poems Of Me
PoesiaPoetry is a form of venting for me. So don't be surprised if you read this only to find a book full of meaningful, and possibly confusing, poems. In some way, my poems are a form of myself and my own feelings. ((PLEASE DON'T STEAL! I MAKE THESE POE...
