Thoughts trapped in ink, scar the paper's white form
As the poet gives way to her quill
Letters falling down, not making a sound
As they bend and bow to her will

She watches the words that's now taking shape
As the ink starts to flow from her veins
Her paper of white, hold the letters so tight
Making sure that its captive remains

Thoughts trapped in ink, now a whisper of life
Born from the lost poet's soul
Her words come alive as they blossom and thrive
Refusing to relinquish control

She relies on her muse as it shouts out commands
Telling her quill what to write
Her poem is finished, when her pain has diminished
As she writes 'til late in the night

Thoughts trapped in ink, are silent, yet loud
The only way thoughts can be heard
All has been said, when her poem is read
Her thoughts, becoming a word