Lines

Tomorrow is a blank page,

it was for my mind to sketch

what I believe can be realized

within the tales told by my dreams.

 

Impossible is the critic

who sits on the shoulder

and barks the curses

to terrorize and discourage.

 

But I refused to allow

this nymph of failure

a chance to force my fingers

into writing lines

in the dark hues of resignation.

 

For faith is the editor

of my soul,

can easily have the power,

which will erase those scribbles

then make sure they are replaced

by ones that scripted

in ink that flows

with extraordinary tints,

viewed by the eyes

as golden rays that can set fire

unto any shadow, stain or night,

until all you can see

are the images of what might be.