Reverberation - II.
Traversing across a whim;
fiddled a tune,
in a delish hymn.
Intrigued and enchanted,
I explored and exploited.
Untill its roots,
deep in the core.
Untill it submerged,
in every pore.
Sporadically wandering;
but never lost,
incessantly hollering;
accompanied, with its own cost.
Gradually it grows,
in a fruitful sow.
it is the color;
that a painter breathes,
the art;
that an artist bequeaths.
It is the ink;
that I bleed,
my escape,
my creed.
And I'll live;
in my six string kingdom,
strumming on tunes of freedom.
YOU ARE READING
Old writes, Drafts and a lot of Experimentation.
Poetrycollection of everything written in past.
