Spirit of the Soul
What the hell can I do with a pen
other than stab myself with emotion
would someone feel the pain
understand the constant agony
would they hear the tone of emptiness
or the longing in my heart to be held
thine ink has run its race
no ribbons for the losers
refills become another journey
to that backward path so hollow
indian ink shall one day become extinct
and the ashes will reach far and wide
but where will they land
upon which soul will they touch
whom will share the pain
caress the inner demons
and be thankful
to know they were never alone......
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