Paper with Pen
The fire burns while the pen is in my hand,
Ashes fall in time like grains of sand.
It takes only a blink and I go back in time,
Sorting out feelings through prose and rhyme.
The muse who persists, whispers in my ear,
She knows when that ripple in time is near.
She grabs on tight as she lets me know,
Until I give in, and it’s off we go.
Memories or moments that haunt my dreams,
Whether my own, or from another I’ve seen.
Chaotic like an artist’s brush to canvas,
Painting a picture on paper to last.
Words become the path to heal and explain,
Verses to rejoice in life or cure the pain.
A voice which once was silenced and drowned,
From a whisper now grown, to a trumpet’s sound.
If one word I write on paper with pen,
Brings up feelings deep in you, from within,
To know you are not lost and alone,
Then these words have at last, found a home.
Words of love and rage, joy and fear,
My little muse keeps them all nestled here.
On paper with pen she recites them out loud,
Until they reach the one who needs found.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED