A picture is worth a thousand words,
So tell me, how many are in the picture of this bird
As I recount its heroic tale do my words then represent a picture?
Represent thousands, as the walls give way from this fixture?

For this is not a picture on canvas, but that is stitched across my very heart.
Every word paints a thousand gasp inducing pictures, for this is art.

This is Picasso meets van Gogh, with a hint of the modern industry,
But I digress before I go on rants like an unstable ministry,
But like a minister I preach tonight,
I beseech thee, let these be your sight.

And as I give you the ecstasy delivered with every flick of the pen,
Upon which you can no longer stand, just say when.
Say when you’re overwhelmed and overpowered,
Say when your very soul is consumed, every thought devoured.

Tell me, as I write this novella of a bird winter blue,
And your interpretations see this blue as a clue.
An inclination of the emotional state of me,
But that’s not true for this bird is royalty, this bird shall decree,
That you see the pictures in these words and read between the lines,
For every word is a thousand pictures but I lost count, speechless within my confines.



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