My Sacred Psalm

You want to know what stands between

The things they write, and what I mean?

Not one word have I wrote and thought

I hope this is something they bought

The words I write aren’t things to sell

They’re all just stories that I tell

Art is not a craft of number

Art is lightning, sometimes thunder

Don’t confuse these words of mine

With those who write to clock their time

I do not care for seed or sow

These pages are my mind’s chateau

They hold my thoughts and all my pleas

And bottle all my memories

If I pulled out this cork and screw

This world would not know what to do

Repent I must, this mind of mine

It torments me all of the time

Pause a moment, breathe, and calm

In this ink; my sacred psalm


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