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
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