Thoughts Withheld Within

Bring me a drop of gold

And I will burn myself to cure thee.

Selfish might I seem

For I wander not into your world.

Bless those who cannot seem to fathom

My love for the fire of gold.

Burn in red flames

Bringing the wings to ashes,

Fall, fall, fall,

Each feather with a silver shine,

The glitter of thy smile

Outshines them all.

The pen breaks

The ink runs

With all the might of the Art.

Blessed be the Mind,

That falls for

The curious Heart.