Upon a blank sheet of paper
With nothing but lines
I can create any picture
With my words and rhymes

I can tell of the colors
Of the pre-dawn sunrise
As the canopy of sky
Sings bright before my eyes

I can share my thoughts and feelings
My passions and my fears
Of romance, anger, joy
And what I may hold dear

The breeze feels cool upon my skin
The sidewalk, burning hot
The snow seemed like a fairy-tale
He feared he might get caught.

Too tired to sleep, so sat up reading
Slept like a new-born babe
Her beauty shimmered like a mirage
He named his cheek scar, "Gabe"

A victorian building with a gable
An old dilapidated cabin
The skyscraper rose seventy floors
It's glass, a cold reflection

The beauty of the majestic mountain
Took her breath away
He was groggy as he sipped
His second coffee of the day

He mixed the colors to find the shade
Of blue to match her hair
A canvas is never quite so good
When you really care

When his lips left hers, she felt
Strangely sort of empty
The birds outside the window kept
Me up until three-thirty

You see, my friend, no artist could
Paint what words can do
And so, my very best friend
Is a paper, and pen too

http://www.davideyoung.com/Poems/WWCP.html
Copyright 2002 by David E. Young. All rights reserved.