He's An Artist
He's An Artist
He's an artist
Who uses tools of silver but draws out red
His thoughts keep him tossing and turning in bed
In the foggy light of the bathroom, his talent is best scene
Tears reap his eyes as he draws about what he could have been
He cries everyday under the tree by the creek
Biting his lips to cease his sobbing not wanting to seem weak
But one day under the silvery moon light
He saw a girl with eyes burning bright
She stepped near the creek to unite with the water, to fill all her holes
But stopped at the glance of the bloody artwork on his soul
With a sigh she rolled her sleeves and whispered, "I draw too."
Tears glistened his eyes but he said, "I'll help you"