First, I would have her be young.
And she should see the world
In layers of paint;
Light on dark
Beauty on pain.
She should know loneliness,
But also hope-
Shining through the
pinholes in grey clouds.
And, walking into a corner shop,
Her shoes will drip and squeal
From the puddles left behind
By afternoon rain.
She meanders through the bookstore
With creaking wooden floors
And a tedious spiral staircase.
Her delicate eyes scan the shelves,
Looking for something to put into words
The smell before a storm,
The anxious chirping of the robins.
She will brush against the spine of my soul with cautious fingertips;
Drink in the script.
She will smell the pages, yellowed and creased
As all those who read do.
She will open and read a poem
Or three.
Her own soul will caress the words
As all writers do.
So, she plucks the book from it's perch on the shelf.
And, cradling it in her arms, carries it to
The wrinkled saleslady
Donning pearls and frills
of long dead rose petals.
These words, they will give voice to the
Songs in her brain and poems in
Her heart.
Because she too is a poet.
writing the words she could not speak
Her poems hold the emotions she could not feel
Without paper and ink
As all the ones who are in love know
YOU ARE READING
We Write for Fear of Silence
Poetry{My soul put into words. Writing is how I put myself back together again. Writing is how I love.} **all poems are mine** HIGHEST RANKING: #30 IN POETRY & #1 IN TEEN POETRY
