I could write you a line, if you’d like.
Words from the gods; food for your soul.
I’m not supposed to scribble mere wishes,
words that fade with the passage of time.
Let me shoot you, if you’d like.
Bullets from my rioting pen; phrases that nudge.
Am I not supposed to sing sonorous songs
that resonate to depths, waking your dormant forces?
You could be whatsoever thing you want,
only if you’d like…
I could inspire you, if you’d like.
The choice is not mine, you know.
Listen, if you’d like.
You can paint this canvas called life
with shades of goodness, kindness; with lots of love.
Forever exists not in this fleshy clothing of ours.
But our deeds, our words, can echo still, long after we’re gone.