Holding you close to my chest,
Whilst surrounded
With miasma and cacophony,
Even though I might not
Be writing in you,
Gives me a hope of redemption
And return
To my astral abode,
Where swelling silence and love
Await.
To all the things that come to behold Me, My Poetry and immortalise my grandeur
With simple carbon.
To all the notebooks and journals that let us speak and flourish