Chalice of Thought

Dress me in honor. 
Paint me in colors of the character I am; 

for my pen sings dear in the eyes of billions.

Roof me golden in voices of my readers; 

for the crown has championed my title.


I am a word-sewer.
These waves of twisted hope inject my

Veins with inks of philosophy,

Yet sustain my poetry with carats of melted diamonds.


Pilot me higher
Without any account of events.

I desire to stand tall.

Before I close the wealthy eyes of my last page,

Sing me not, let the world sing me better;
For my words are pasted on your lips
That kiss my poems in verses.

If I'm in miles of touching your heart,

Let my poems, in magnet, adhere to your spirit.