Drawn to Die
I live a simple quiet existence
Not much of it calls for persistence
I am silent and all-seeing
I need no words to describe my being
~
She lives without much to say
Or so I assume anyway
After all if she was meant to speak
I would have given her a mouth between each cheek
~
If I tried to express who I am
You would only consider me a lamb
I would rather you took me for sharp
Than for the hands on the harp
~
Her existence is quiet, barely there
Yet formed with the utmost care
Surrounded by messengers she dare not lead
Her honesty is far too difficult to read
~
I do not know what it is that I should state
Except that soon I shall bide farewell and dissipate
Scrubbing away all that I knew with a few strokes of pink
I have no true meaning or so the artist tends to think
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