Inside my soul it cries and wails,

I keep it trapped, for the key is mine.

Until the cage, from my own hands, at long last falls and fails.

Nobody can comprehend that museful flower,

Lost in the garden of my thoughts.

It is hidden 'til my fingers touch its pensive petals, crush it into ink.

I spread this ink across the snow-

A white expanse awaiting the gift of my emotions

And in syllables far heavier than those of my lips, I transfer myself to years long ago.

There is no escape as pure as a pen's ebony trail

A secret love note from our hearts to our brains

Little rhymes, tiny stories- red ribbons to bring us home again.

I write for the secret thoughts inside my head

A sigh- relief- and intense euphoria

It's why I do not speak, but write instead.