Tapestry
I am an artist
My paint is dark as night
My brush has no bristles
My canvas is many pages
My portraits have no image
My tapestry is your mind


Something off the top of my head. It should be obvious what its about.

Writing is Hard
The words flow from the soul,
Through the pen and onto the page.
Sound hard? Not at all.
Writing is hard.
How can I let,
Beauty flow from my soul,
And into words,
When you took away,
Half my soul?


Something I wrote when I was feeling depressed. In my opinion, its not that good.

This Abyss
The world is a great black pit,
An inner flame is the only guide,
One has in this abyss.

Mine has long since gone,
Leaving me alone,
To wander in this abyss.

Long have I wandered,
Blind, scarred, invisible,
Lost in this abyss.

All I need is a spark,
To relight my torch,
So I can escape the darkness,
Of this abyss I call my heart.


Another depression induced outpouring. Please let me know what you think of these.