Pen to Paper

When my heart sings, I write it down. When pain brings me to tears, when my soul cries out for release, I write my hopes and fears. Maybe its bad, maybe its profound; it doesn't matter to me. It matters just to write it here; to make what isn't, be. Is it more true on this white page to cry, to laugh, to feel; or is it just the way I know that what I am is real. The pen my fingers used to hold, the keyboard I peck on now; a notebook, now a glowing screen, they are my heart somehow. How lucky God gave me my words. How true they seem to me. Just shadows of my soul's great thoughts. A child's first steps, so free. Not perfect, no, these keys don't sing. They'll never get it right. But what I feel beneath my hand is joy because I write