I spill my thoughts onto sheets of white

Lately, my passion lies in poetry’s embrace, Quenching my soul’s thirst in this sacred space. The newborn’s cries inspire the lines I weave, Leaving them behind, in their form, I believe. My heart is torn, in tatters and frayed, I write my verses with a shaky hand laid. One day, this paper, with my thoughts laid bare, Will be cast aside, as if no one would care. I spill my thoughts onto sheets of white, Relentlessly, my pen takes flight. If I fail to share what’s in my mind, Is there any use for paper left behind?