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

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