Pen to paper, heart to mind
a constellation i know to be mine,
somewhere, a place that everything comes together,
a crumpled sheet of paper, or in my mind forever,
the ink of the pen means nothing,
without my mind fueled by something.
Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,
without words its all one big mess,
please give sight to these ideas,
with symbnols all leading to cytherea.
Letters wield words and meaning,
as eighteen things send me careening,
and despite my hearts warming tone,
there lies a firery rose,
burning alone.
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