Sometimes there are words on blank pages,
If you look closely enough.
Sometimes there is music in the silence,
If you listen closely enough.
But it all comes down to if you see it,
The spaces between the letters,
The messages in my whispers,
Or my cunning subtlety that screams in your face.
Sometimes my eyes recite poetry,
But you’d have to look into them to know.
Sometimes there are prayers in my blank stares,
And sometimes my silence is a drum.