Each page conveys the sentiment
the words, more meaning still
to pause for just, a moment
listening to, the writer's quill

Inspiration flows,
From my soul to my mind to my eye.
My quill glows,
Connecting the dots, of the paper my ally

It's there for you and me
the comradere of prose
sung, lined, rhymed, or free
and perfectly, composed

My quill sings a story,
My heart translates its feelings.
My paper is never lonely,
For the words fill its openings.

We deal with emotions
the ones, we can't suppress
words, in constant motion
poetically, expressed

The words we can,
We scream, shout or yell.
The words we can't,
We sit quietly and dwell.

The feel of synchronicity
a push, sometimes, a pull
not knowing what will, or may not be
a glass not empty, but yet, not full

Count me out
This Christmas!
I will go away
Out of your sight
On a lone road far away
Right this night
So you don't have to see my face
A place where you can not trace
You are a well put up show
I did care alot, you know!
But it doesn't mean anything to you
You are a hard hearted statue
No care, no love, no feelings at all
You mean business and money
And fame, hence you not lonely
It would make no difference
For you have many people around you
I was just a stained face, that's how you knew
It's just been an hour since I left your mansion
My phone keeps ringing seemed you in tension
No, this time am not answering your call
I had enough of respect, as you made me fall
Embarrassing me with your ego and arrogance
Told me, I was over him with my innocence
I am hurt, yes I am! Thanks for this gift
For this Christmas my emotions are adrift
You may forget me soon
But I will always remember you
As I remember this moon...

©sim