Being I

 Look through my eyes, what do you see - 

A vision of beauty that is myself in me,

I see your memoirs depicting heaven

that you thought I was luckily seven.

Enter my way of thinking emersed,

And you will find a temper cursed, 

As a hearse verse is terse swelling

of misconceiving my believing.

Use my body, a heart of art

Not world' s far apart,

A very good start.

In an apple cart.

Use my hand

and touch you

From being blue

And I will bless you.

Walk in me and run a trot

Like a horse having a hot shot

Who might run short in the spirit

But blessed with  a decanter with it.