The Saint of Augustine

The Saint of Augustine

I don’t care if people like me or if people think I’m wise

Writing is the only place that I can go without disguise

The ink that my quill writes with are the tears that pour down from my eyes

I pulled it’s feather from my wing because the other’s feather lies

Searching for a solace that’s serene is something that I seek

And I will fly and paint the sky until I find the things I speak

Unknown doorways open up revealing all that is unique

I soar through all the stars at night in wonder and such grand mystique

Home is here inside this world of words and all the things between

I once was lost but now am found by things I never thought I’d mean

Pen and pad are wed tonight under the Saint of Augustine

Kings are rarely righteous rulers when they’re left without a Queen


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