Poetry in forms of pencil strokes

Musings from a Tipsy Scatterbrain

your fingers pluck on my heartstrings like a skilled musician. The idea of you, as steady as a drum beat in my head. I peer into a sea of faces and wonder if you're lost in there, are you trying to get out? Or are you hiding instead? Being alone, and being happy. It's a hard thing to master. Especially when all around you everyone is paired together.
So, who are you? I'm dying to know!
My heart is calling out, it sings its song so loudly, trying to wait patiently for the return of its call. I'm searching for a pure heart. One that's brave and true. Kind and patient. Gentle, loving. Does this sound like you? Do your eyes see things the way they are, from a surface view? Or do you see with a creative imagination, making old things seem brand new?
Images in my head, belonging on an artist's wild canvas. But sometimes it's hard to find the right form of expression for all these thoughts found where head and heart meet. Should I use a gilded paint brush, or illustrate with my bruised and battered feet?
I need to move to think, it's just the way I am. On most days I need more then pen and ink to exercise my crazy plans.
If you think you can handle my insanity, well, then you're welcome to give it a shot. But I must shoot you a warning:
This brain and these emotions don't come equipped with a switch to turn things 'off'. I need a kindred spirit, someone who shares my goals. Someone to bring me coffee and a kiss at 3am when I'm tired and starting to feel slow.
Whisper that you love me.
Place a smile on my face.
Forgive me when I hurt you.
And share with me God's grace.
I can see you smiling as I place my hand in yours, as we walk down a path lined with trees. Our hair goes from dark to gray, and eventually we walk with canes.
You'll be my hero and my lifeline and keep me from going mad. I'll drive you towards insanity but you won't mind, because being crazy's not so bad.
I have many dreams of life, and love, and art, but you...
you yourself are a dream ...
But O, to dream! To dream is an experience I'll never forsake. For it's in the adventurous, nonsensical world of my imagination that I get to meet you.

Poetry by pencil strokes

- art credit to: Sophia

Dear Heart ~

A bruised and bloody heart It's all I see right now Bits and pieces missing How I wish I had them all I think about the piece you have And wonder why I gave it Can I say 'I want it back'? Because, I think you hate it What have yo done with my dear heart? have you squirreled it away? Added to your ever growing collection Damned to be just another one Dear heart, I'm sorry what I've done to you Tearing you apart I wish I could fix it, make it up to you, But I don't know where to start I can see that bit of heart I gave you Thrown aside in the corner of your mind You carry on, so unaware of its sadness over being there Hidden under a pile Of all your rash and wanton thoughts Smothered by things you wont let go Stashed away in your dark and brooding heart I think about the piece you have And wonder why I gave it Can I say 'I want it back'? Because, I think you hate it What use is it to you now, Since you've gone and left me here? Now I sit, alone and bitter And you're off drinking beer I hope you treat my dear heart well You may not want it, but it's there I tell you this so you can't say That you were unaware Because that bit is part of me And I'm still very fragile So please don't cause it much more pain Because I know that I can't battle A bruised and bloodied heart, That's the image in my head But soon that heart will heal And I will move ahead.