there are no mystic jewels, embedded in my prose,
no moonlit haloed cherubs, perched on my piano,
no lyrics laced with pixie dust, no angels sings along.
i am just a beggar who gives alms
gold and silver have i none, but such i have give thee,
borrowed words from the one, who gave the gift to me,
the pearl that i could never buy, this life, this dream, this song,
and i am just a beggar who gives alms
i am not the creator, but a scribe with a pen,
i’m recreating visions, through a cracked and broken lens,
only one has ever seen the home for which we long,
and i am just a beggar who gives alms.