the cold of morning rain <br />sends weary chills down my core <br />seeming not content to flush my veins: <br />greedily bores a hole right through. <br />that, i, stumbling upon a pen, <br />drag my soul to fill <br />each line with words and rhymes. <br />but surely not my heart would sing <br />for what would drive it without the string? <br />what is there that's left for art <br />if not for beauty, wrath, or love? <br />and so i swear from here on through <br />to write again for none but you...<br /><br />Blissful Anonimity<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/none-but-you/
