From My Pen

There's things you don't know, words yet to be read. They flow out through my pen, with so much to be said. They're mine, all my own, every line, every part Whether rhyme or a story they come from the heart. The ink has a voice that begs to be heard, Thoughts, dreams and wishes now become words. Why do I write them for no one to hear, Continue to spill them into a deaf ear? To me they mean something, to others- who knows. From deep down inside then to paper they go. Quiet they wait these things I have written Heart and soul now on paper should you choose to listen.