Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

the will of the pen knows no bounds 
but limited to the will of the writers hand
like the tone of a melody without sound
waiting for the cue from the band 

the face of a painting has no features 
except those the artist wishes to convey 
as the student of life has no teachers 
except those one wishes to obey 

the mind of the artist knows no justice 
except the judgement delivered by the land 
for the wrath of nature lusts in 
the embrace of chaos' arms at hand 

the scholar may quest for that which is forbidden  
though the will of the body remains untamed 
for the strength of the mind lay hidden
in a philosophers temple in a philosophers brain  

the warriors will to fight for glory 
strengthened through each land he drifts 
yet the screams in his dreams and stories 
tells him how much peace is a gift 


as the pen of history continues to move 
inviting prince time to take part in chance 
the celestial bodies start to groove 
on the universes stage in a cosmic dance 

it is the meekest of men to quest for equality 
as the soul of the universe aligns with the brute 
yet in the eyes of the artist one is taught to see 
when the warrior  speaks peace, his lips numb mute 

the will of chaos runs parallel to the universe
as does history to plasma in veins 
for the gift of peace is mans biggest curse 
in a world he quest to claim

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