Words come to my mind so often.
They fill the restless time, it seems.
Their insistence cannot soften;
They even come to me in dreams.
For years I went completely silent,
Refusing to write the simplest phrase.
Perhaps their pounding grew too violent;
Or I got lost within their maze.
I've opened now the tight-sealed gates,
And a flood comes rushing out.
They formed a fountain from the straits;
Their revenge for my barren drought.
I fear I feel just way too much,
And try to put it all to words;
For even wounds too deep to touch,
Can heal as if they never stirred.
Words race around inside my head,
Til I resolve to make them known.
But I guess they're scared of being read,
Since they turn the pen to stone.
So they rush and attack my lips,
As if they wish to fall on ears.
But then they flee to fingertips,
To lose themselves in the inkwell's tears.
I fear there's an empire locked inside,
That will one day have to fall.
For death will come to be my guide,
And I'll have failed to write them all.
-Grace Charisma Hart