A poet never really stops writing,
only sometimes, we lose the strength to write it all down.
But when we write,
we spill our hearts upon the pages.
Every ink filled line,
giving full access to our minds,
for whoever dares to read them.
I apologize for the tears and blood stains,
sometimes my pen reveals too much.
As I close my eyes,
and my hand glides across the page,
my soul speaks to me in the best possible way.
Aug 5, 2020
Aug 5, 2020 at 9:29 AM UTC
A poet never really stops writing,
only sometimes, we lose the strength to write it all down.
But when we write,
we spill our hearts upon the pages.
Every ink filled line,
giving full access to our minds,
for whoever dares to read them.
I apologize for the tears and blood stains,
sometimes my pen reveals too much.
As I close my eyes,
and my hand glides across the page,
my soul speaks to me in the best possible way.
