Why are we still scared of the dark?
Isn’t black inviting, drawing everything in..
There’s a certain mystery to it,
Concealing all things dark in it’s heart..
Making everything bright glow brighter…
There’s a black butterfly at my door,
Should I let it in?
Shall I not devote my heart,
To the One who holds the mountains firm,
And a myriad of stars in perfect constellations..
For my heart is made of glass..
With a thousands cracks running through..
Been to the mountains of Everest,
and grasses evergreen..
My mother’s wrinkled hands,
the prettiest sight
I’ve ever seen..
The color of your soul, is precisely what my darkness seeks..
The compelling strokes of your brush, creating wild ocean peaks..
These cravings that evoke me, more than I’d like to confess..
The touch of your fingertips, for my body is your canvas..