Bridge-Way To An Author's Dream

I calculate the madness and it's still incurable What does the world want? the elements keep me miserable I Tip-toe and gleam to salvage my goals and dreams My pen bleeds blue or black ink, 4 to 5 utensils applied to meaning I might be inclined to sketch my life graphically But what's the point? why can't I enjoy moments relaxingly If I Step my feet in her boundary, she will not permit Even if I called her digits or was prompted by stitches My heart is busied so affiliating with you would be knew I never had a connection to last crucially to understand the visual Siblings' example makes it look so easy They try to preach me on subjects bound reach me I sometimes fail to listen and learn Whether I am initiated with Christ like they are I tend to believe staying close to them, keeps me aligned and firm