thoughts are like things,

they have both thorns and wings.

but You just sit there on my paper,

and my brush can not reach

what i preach.

yet, still i practice.

hoping that some moment, (this one perhaps?)

the tears will mix with the ink of life –

and magic is once again reborn.

Silly human! so maudlin and dramatic –

as if you were in charge of birth and death and magic!

step outside – the roses have thorns and still bloom.