To live within is why l write,
So with words l try to mimic Picasso's actions,
For l cannot paint a drawing,
Rather but l can try to make you feel what l once felt,
For l have a dream foreseen from what l once saw,
So l let the ink tell a story my soul once responded too.
Thus as symbols, syllables and vowels carry a basket of muddled puzzled thoughts,
l lay at eaze to configure the figure that once resided within the midst of an eye,
Whilst the calligraphy font of a pen leaves an iota on paper.
Foretold is the story of a fortuneteller,
l opt to leave with a portrait of words designed in a landscape form of his image,
Hence slowly we hope to foresee what's beyond the eye of our eyes
For the eye only exhibit what's before us,
So as nightfall approaches l lay my pen to rest.