Its rightful space

 

I put my words to the air,  

So they can find land and seed,  

As I put forth my stories running in mind,  

Sometimes in circles yet mostly arrow fine,  

Believing in my journey, knowing it's time.

Every moment becomes the wind,  

Blowing impressions into forms, binding,  

Creating the picture of words thinking most,  

Being happy for this art, to honor the host.

As I fly, being, art baby blue,  

The one true love, you. 

The words, like whispers, take their flight,  

Seeking soil where they might ignite,  

A story crafted with care and grace,  

Finding its place, its rightful space.

In the dance of thought, where circles spin,  

An arrow finds its mark within,  

Guided by faith in the unseen line,  

Each step forward, a sign of the divine.

The wind, a partner in this grand mind,  

Carries the message, subtle and fine,  

Shaping the abstract into the real,  

A masterpiece where thoughts congeal.

In this art, pure joy is found,  

A tribute to the sacred ground,  

Where every word, every spoken,  

Paints a canvas, ever true.

And as I soar in skies of blue,  

My heart reflects this love, so true,  

For in this art baby blue,  

I find my home, in love with you.