Give Me War

Have you ever looked,

at a woman,

so cordial in her essence?

You feel as though,

your presence,

could hinder her sunlit portrait.

….

A vision,

continues to play;

where you inevitably taint this pristine brush.

….

A brush,

that has never truly been held,

in an artists soft,

and passionate grip.

….

A brush,

that has yet to absorb,

every coloured emotion,

under the dynastic sun.

….

A brush,

that has never loved,

until the principles of sanity,

have been brought under question.

….

And I have finally come to realise,

why intimacy is a burden,

upon my soul.

….

The first steps,

towards an intimate bond,

are the most arduous,

I will ever have to take.

….

Give me war.

Give me hardship.

Give me pain.

But do not give me the power,

to decide her fate.

….

I know,

that her perfected perceptions,

of love,

may eventually break.

….

For I have tainted,

too many pristine brushes,

in my wake.

So I remain an artist,

without a brush to paint.

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