Some days
I waste away
Worrying about the world,
My palette, is paintless,
And so, tonight
I paint with words,
Weaving soul into ink,
Somewhat shy to share,
Quiet parts of my heart
With all the critical readers,
Secretly hoping they cannot
Notice that it's there.
Too scared to show the dreamers,
Some days I can't quite feel it.
The tip of my tongue tastes
Peppermint tea, properly hoping
It soothes me
To my bones,
For I feel my thoughts are weary,
And my worries all outgrown,
Perhaps, some day
We will learn to walk on water,
And all the non-believers will listen
To the tales of the spirited ones
Who burn sandalwood and
Spend time
Understanding.
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