A game is she not,
don't play, there might be wrath.
A fiery being she is,
literature is her fist.
You, lover of soul,
treasure her, don't make her bawl.
Her spirit is found in words.
The rhythm is in your chords.
YOU ARE READING
Whisper of Words
PoetryIf you can't hear it out loud and your voice couldn't make a sound, listen to the whisper of words. A collection of poems
