I will paint these words,

On the wings of your sparrow.

To fly, into tommorow.

Your heart flutters
To the beat of the drum
Like a butterfly spreading it's wings
You open your heart to the world
But there is no anchor to your sorrow
Delicacy is spared
The shutters come down again

Poetry is an escape,
a tool,
a gift,
a freedom.
Use it.
Use it wisely.