Dana Bain Poet Rhyme

Sorrowful Bliss

I have a dream,
a dream no one else can seem to grasp.
Just paper and ink smudges- that wouldnt make a pay,
They say.
A thousand lives in a story, a story I control.
malicious Beasts, a heart ache or a heart-break,
 endless possibilities.

She sits there scattered at her desk, a thousand thoughts, 
and a fight to be fought.
Thus she stayed silent, a word for each unheard voice.
Words that made her feel alive,
 as her smile had been deprived.


Her swelling eyes that were dripping-
a drip for all her anguish,
that would send the words spilling.
Words that were more than just words, 
more than any thrilling conversation. 
Words that had dreamt to be voiced,
but were seen as absurd.

The blank ink spilling onto the page, 
only understood by her, no rejoice 
just bitter need for another voice.
The invisible ink she called it,
her closest friend.

But was it really just that, or
the longing to become a writer,
 to inspire another fighter.
To pour ones heart into a text, 
and connect with all the rest reading.
Not just a teacher scanning anymore,
 to my hard longed planning,
but the need for an audience.

I have a dream.
A dream that I can connect with another, 
to have an effect, through my words.
That at the age of 20, 
I can have home: 
dual desks, words that matter and
paper that roams.
Eyes that no longer cry,
for I instead dye my page with ink that shone,
 created by man,
and the pen gripped by her hand in desperation.

Once the ink was intertwined with paper,
she might have the chance to publish later.
But was it really an option
 to publish her puddles of ink,
or had she just became
 too close to who she called 
"The invisible ink".

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