carol anne' richard weyler's Page

Call it obsession,

He has to create;

turns His gaze in her direction,

mesmerizing fate.

The plan, He doesn’t follow,

She cannot trace His steps,

she is full, appearing hollow,

closer to her death.

And  she believes, because He does,

this task, worth the time.

She lies still while the Hands of Love,

cut the ties that bind.

Mathematics , using clay,

selected from the embers,

water needed will obey,

He alone remembers.

Beautiful…

           "I know I craft from a prisoner's stance,

              the spirit,gagged and bound.

            I know that redemption is elegant trance,

              but wings make an awful sound.

            I breathe words in;

            I push death through,

              and with this crying pen,

            I pour it all on you.



              

            I know my voice screams on a page,

              though no one hears the…

Elite of whirling cosmos,

            speaks out of the void.

          Language; merging unknown tongue,

            with urging Grand Design.

          Initiating this osmosis;

            I, slightly annoyed.

          Yet; slated to be welcome,

            in this incessant fire.



          From whence is this appearing,

            the scribe's tormented flame?

          Consuming all my alibis

            deletion of comic…