Writing when I should be listening
Lost in translation from mind to ink.
This delicate poetry between the pages
These lacy images that make me think.

Bringing down the damaged walls
With words that seem to come alive.
This delicate poetry between the pages
Inspiring my disheartened soul to thrive.

I’m no great poet, whose lines can move
Another’s eyes to fill with tears
But this delicate poetry between the pages
Can speak for me beyond my years.