Like a drowning painter
In the treacherous depths
With oil paints, thick and rolling,
On a soggy canvas
Painting the sea
Your presence swells
And I paint you
Drowning me

under my feets the frozen grass,
i walked bare footed but got a scar.

i stopped and looked at it
but then i started walking again.

That scar bled myself away;
i kept walking and didn't stopped.

As, that way was towards my destiny.
Many walls i crossed and left behind.

Many broken wishes were left behind,
to gain something, i have to try.

To do what i was here to do,
to become "me", ' i have to do',
'what i am destined to do'.

'me, me and me is not the dream'
'to be me is what i want to be! '

whatever floats yer boat
paint a picture
sing a song
even write a note
just get out
and tell yer story
whatever floats yer boat

the message
is important
you could paint
it on a goat
just get out
and tell yer story
whatever floats yer boat

a writer sings
a painter paints
an author uses words
it's no good
unless the message
isn't seen or heard

keeping thoughts as secret
isn't good and here is why
because sharing brings them life
and otherwise they'll die

write a letter
do a play
or even bake a cake
the message
it is important
who cares what form it takes

say it loud
or scream it
even put it in a song
opinions
are for sharing
even if they're wrong

a writer sings
a painter paints
an author uses words
it's no good
unless the message
isn't seen or heard

keeping thoughts as secret
isn't good and here is why
because sharing brings them life
and otherwise they'll die

paint a picture
sing a song
even write a note
just get out
and tell yer story
whatever floats yer boat

She is a blank slate
pleasant sight of purity,
always caught in mire artistic situations,
attracts nothing but cold, grimed,
treacherous hearts,
somehow, always ends up in tainted hands,
to painters who were not meant
to hold a brush.

They say love heals all.
It doesn't.
They same time heals all.
It shouldn't.

The sea was
a shade of the
deepest blue,
the waves,
moved by
strong winds
made thousands
of white strokes,
as if touched by
a painter at work,
a seagull, with
black tipped
wings flies
in the sky,
home to the
sun, reflecting
upon the ocean
the brightest
shade of pure
diamond,
touching
my feet,
clear and
the bringer
of colorful
stone
treasures,
I allowed the
waters to take
me over,
I closed my
eyes, within
my heart and
soul, still it
echoed,
the endless
music of the
waves, asking
for my embrace
and calling
me to the
tides, moving
as the heavens
through my
hands as I
wander in
my mind
amongst the
bird in flight