Apart of You [Poetry]

The Poet

There once was a poet who wrote all night,
Penning verses until the sky was light,
She wrote of leaves and girls who smiled,
And fancy pens that caught her eye.

But when the words ran out one night,
She was left alone with her own mind's fright,
Judging eyes scanned her slim frame,
And demons whispered that she was to blame.

Still she wrote, though there was nothing left to say,
For she'd rather write and keep demons at bay,
Than be consumed by thoughts that never cease,
And find no solace, no peace.

She wrote of love and heartache,
Of dreams and fears that kept her awake,
Of hope that flickered like a flame,
And of the world that was never the same.

She wrote of joy and sorrow,
Of today and memories of tomorrow,
And as she wrote, her soul took flight,
Finding freedom in words, in the dead of night.

For the poet knew that in her heart,
Lay a treasure trove of stories and art,
And as long as she could write them down,
She'd never be lost, she'd never drown.

So she wrote, and wrote, and wrote some more,
Till her fingers ached and her eyes grew sore,
And as the sun rose and filled the sky,
She knew she'd never let her words die.

For the poet had found her voice,
And in her words, she'd found her choice,
To live a life that was truly her own,
And never be left to face the unknown.