When I read the writers hands,
lost I get in the words of the painter.
I feel my flaws getting released into the one who created them, so the hurt goes into the unhurt.
And when the paper talks to you, consider yourself of important significance. And when the writer shares his understanding of thoughts, you may as well accept his universe as your gift.
I wish I could tell you how I get drowned in the shape of the words; how I find a hidden realm of greatness, and a glimpse of the brilliance of the One Who Created thought.
But as I write this, may you know, that as I blow my spirit into this paper,
it has become alive for you.
YOU ARE READING
You Who Knows Best
PoetryThis is a series of love poems written by me. "May we meet where the eye can find its rest, And where our hearts beat for each other, even outside of our breasts."
