If I took your pain and called it artistry
if I hung it in a gallery
would others see what I can see?
the wildness of emotion and fury
combined to produce such beauty
The edges would be blurred and faded
crescendo of a flaming heart unshaded
a centre untouched and full of flame
held up high to the world unashamed
wild child destined never to be tamed
Stoic Poetry
Through The Cracked Window (Revisited) 