Tears fill up my quill, making the page blue
As words shape themselves, into the paper drew.
If only you could hear my soul cry
I will open up my heart before my ink runs dry.
Letting my spirit permeate the paper
Allowing you to inhale sweet sentiments that vapor.
My pen is my weapon, breaks down my fears
A journey of mute eloquence, it reveres.
Clamoring for peace, thoughts struggling for a release
As they flutter free, my poetry becomes my mouthpiece.
As my quill comes into its own
My cries are stifled into a gentle moan.
For Micheal's Boomerrang contest..