Jul 23
A quiet room, a heavy chest,
Words I couldn’t hold inside—
I gave the page the very best
Of all the things I tried to hide.
Now the paper bears the stain,
The ink is wet, the room is still.
It didn't take away the pain,
It only proved how much I feel.
I spilled the glass, I let it flood,
And watched the ink run deep and dark.
Not quite tears, not quite blood,
Just sorrow making its own mark.
The page is full, the night is still,
The storm inside has cleared away....
I gave the words my heart to fill,
And left myself with none to say.
