an empty book in my hand,
an empty mind and my heart,
I sat once, unknowing
of how to say what I felt.
knew not why I felt a void,
felt unease even to speak;
knew not a soul would listen,
only pretend to understand.
heart knew not how to lie,
words had to escape, be free,
took refuge, in what it loved,
its beats jumped to poetry.
lost, to the power of words,
old scars escaped to paper,
new hope started to grow,
emptiness started to taper.
in the silence of a pencil,
I found myself once again,
in the mirror of my poems,
I felt the soothing rain.
connected, to my heartbeat,
I knew my calling was this,
so whenever I feel a void,
I know what to reminisce.
Linked with OctPoWriMo (Day 3, Connected To Inner Self)
(’12, Oct 03)
So this is how… My dearo’s simple yet powerful words transformed into a beautiful poetry π
Beautiful .. your each and every line!
Yeah. That is how π Thank you, baby Sims π
– Leo.
I could relate to this … so well done !!!
Thank you, GS.
– Leo.
I wonder how many other voice have been found with pencil in hand? Enjoyed this one.
Quite a few for sure, Martin π Thank you!
– Leo.