The Depth Of Nature

I don’t sell novels, poems or short-stories

I sell blessings, inspiration, hope, and dreams from the observatory

She holds me close, when I’m not around

The ground has our footsteps, but we don’t make a sound

She is the reason why breath still exits my lungs

She’s my strongest muscle, like the tongue

Angels surround me, they propound spiritual meaning

The ideas outweigh time, as I continue scheming

The depth of my words enter the casket

Wise like the deceased, the embodiment is ratchet

Number one, when it comes to perfecting the craft

An author who won’t drown; staying afloat on the raft

Million dollar ideas, outside this writing profession

My hobby is a cash cow, every time my pen is in session

A natural born prophecy, making sure my hobby becomes a career

Currently its a lucrative job that’s been made clear


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