My life is at the bottom of a coffee cup,
and thoughts are all I have left to paint.
Peace inside the pressure that is the weight upon my shoulders,
Over and over I run the race with myself.
No matter what I turn my hand to.
I wash them both in the rivers and let myself fall through.
Mountains upon mountains
Fire is my climb,
The burn marks healed of passion
Written into my spine.
As I lay in a day without sun I wonder
is there light at all?
Embers of a forgotten life
dance in shadows on my wall.
They form faces that talk to me,
and feel like my only friends
that exist in the absence of light
with words I write with my own pen.
Again I remember the temple
A castle I have built
With gold leaking from fingertips
like the ink that I once spilt
upon the poem that I wrote
that I meant to give to you.
But shy is a heart that is bruised
when opaque is the colour of you.