3
There’s nothing so suitable as a pen—for expressing pain—
No other instrument has a stint extended as deeply within the vein.
There’s nothing so fit as a laugh to release the pent up fears—
Nothing that can break the mortared cask enough to dry the tears.
There’s nothing so perfect as a song—for escaping misery:
With each rung on the staff, a soul climbs closer to free.
Copyright © Ashley Poort | Year Posted 2011
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