Ambitious are his words, striking like thunder on a bleeding canvas
Ink spills—the heart spills, and magic threads spun upon his mind’s golden words, placed upon empty lines
Everything has a soul, even words
Joyous and betimes grey and mourning
Most of all magic—the imagination’s multiplity of sounds, movement, and color
As pillows of slumber awaken souls, a match strikes a flame
This is where thunder ignites song and pen
This is where words dance in rain; each soul step kissing white threaded parchment whilst tapping lines