Writing

I know how it feels to lack love in life; Absent from the hearts of those I held close, Wishing they could just fathom how I felt. Though I could not speak up to those people, I found a new voice; a new medium. I began to write my thoughts in this verse; The clouds cleared and the sky brightened; then warmth. Though at night I was still just as lonely; Clutching pillows all night; longing embrace. My voice turned from love to bitter poison. And for a while, I got lost on the road. - Hands can only write so much, then they tire. I found (by chance) another mode to write; For whilst the mind may rest, the heart beats, still. What I found, then became my purest verse; For I would sleep with a pen and paper, And my heart would write whist my mind rested. Once again my verse spouted fonts of love, And there was a peace and balance in life. What I found, I state with clear honesty; Good poetry is not in a constraint; But written with heart, through mind, and by hand.