Poetry is the mediator
A tool of fate, A tool of description
A teller of fates, A saver of souls

It cannot grow old, nor shall it fade
It has a birth it can't remember
Its hard to see the lives its made
Because its seen alot
Been alot
Hurt alot..
Saved even more..

Its the way a poet or poetess survives the hurts of life

Those things called lies..

If I fall.. You will know
If you fall, know you are not alone

So stand tall..
Write truthfully

And we will never fade..

I am one of many who feels alone..

One who revels within words when on my own..

A poet or poetess can be broken
Burned, hurt and slayed
But still live in words, the heaven we made

Tick tock 9, 10, 11 its an hour til twelve..
Into myself I delve..
Open the notebook..
Close the doors.. Tick Tock Lock

30 minutes pass..

Half a lifetime til a new day..
How have nights become this way?

I remain awake to spill my heart
In hopes I will find peace

In hopes that my aching heart will cease before my soul is deceased

Vessel of hearts, Dreams built and broken
I wanted to remain silent
But my fire has awoken

My silent heart now speaks.. Of the chaos life can wreak.. Of the manipulation of the weak.. Of how my mouth hates truth I fear to speak..

For I am weak, among the meek..

So poetry for me will speak..
Until I find the happiness I seek..

I will love poetry.. My caretaker.. My dream..

My hate..

My love..