Desperation of the Predestined
Tears are destined to unchain from the eye
when there's far too much going on inside.
Some eyes are not meant to ever grace light.
Like two blackbirds without a desire to fly.
A heartbeat was meant to spread out
to be felt over the earth and far beyond.
A pebble ignites the soul of a pond.
A beat and ripple are from similar cloth.
Sky ballerina, never stays in one place
, a pleaser for a panel of petaled faces.
Like a vagabond that's often displaced.
Butterfly and vagabond siesta in shade.
Some hands are meant to make love to canvas
Some fancy to finger clay or lay stain to glass.
Many go without as they yield to their passion
Most don't arise until after they're long dead.
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