Bleeding Pens

Every night I take the journey
On board the craft I carry with me
Searching every shore opening every door
So that the light of truth may illuminate all around me
It’s therapy through creation
An entertaining reliever of tension
Searching deep within helping me to bring
The answers to so many of my questions

Paper only exists for bleeding pens
So that they can tell of your beauty
My poetry sits incomplete unfinished duties
But there’ll always be another verse in the air
Hoping to push the paint ‘round the canvas
But no two moments are the same
They’re captured and they’re framed
Their photos of your thoughts and are as precious
As the moments that inspire them

The pony of prose never tires
There’s nothing that could put out the fires
It has an ear to lend it’s a life long friend
And it’s the keeper of all your most secret desires
It’s a flower to hand to a loved one
And it’s picked from your very own garden
From beneath the stretching canopy
Where words are the leaves of the poet tree
And love is the rain and the soil and the fruit and the sun