Art of You

For what my life owe and sold this fate
Nothing worldly left that makes me sate

For long our love brawled with might and haste
Each battle stale for fierce forces laid waste

Where inferno bashed with hell to burn it’s best
Predators who shan’t devour a prey irresistible at rest

Let your breathless exhales be heard so sound
Your soul upon my fingers meant to it bound

Heart upon heart at war and peace that know no bound
Hammer every ore with love’s flame so kindly found

Dusk these dawns and set the sun to endless bliss
Let this darkness fall as magic to your every abyss

Only you to sate my state with a war this fierce at stake
So Impel every piece to be at peace with your might you take

Let your spirit not shiver or halt for the cold breeze it fought
Brushes thee gentle poison of an ache untamed you sought

Let not love ocean though haste for we may eternally drown
Safe within my care your demons may rest humbly bolted down

You are my world beyond my grasp and your art I call due
You are my pain who so delivers my words for the art of you

let your hands be my clay
I will mold my hand upon yours

let your hair be my wind
I will float within this forest of sent

let your arm be my violin
I will play in the melody with your pulse

let your spine be my sea
I will voyage beyond every keen tide

let your lips be my canvas
I will paint my passion inked with love

Make vary thy prisoned breath to sighs
For long it quavers not high or nigh to rise

Wane oh fade away to touch so intense
Surrender oh spell to siege of all sense

Let not consequence call a grave to you
Speak of what conscience may I rob from you

Thrive and yet wither to what waits way
Forgo a soul for desire to plunder and slay

So don’t best nor rest and
Give in your infinity all at once

let not curiosity creak you, for a mystery is not known for its impulse, so drown away with your infinite sea of thoughts

What can I describe, words merely bring poison to a sea of wonder. For what I can express is a sight of a weakness towards an origin along the empty creaking alley of silent darkness.
For every still or ill mystery lies a tale that is beyond recognition of the naive mind. That fails yet considers to be dominant to what has passed or what will be.
So what can be offered are fragments of perspective wasting away cruelly by time, for a description is a lie.
Words don’t give vision, they cease life, beauty or horror of that which once existed or has prevailed in such honor and yet distinguished it’s presence worthy of the attention that required the capture as a description.

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