Wordsmith

My tools are not shiny or sharp, nor do they have serrated edges.

An arrow with its crimson target, breath aligned with skill, I pursue.

Threading my bow with echoing sentiments, may it penetrate and render you breathless.

Captured; become untamed to the language of the heart.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s