The Life is Lived
I sing about my pain without ever breathing a word
The melody carried by the pen in my hand
The paper holding my lyrics and heartache in a crisp white shell
The chorus is found in the crinkling of the page and the smell of the ink
I lead armies without ever lifting a sword
The soldiers rallied by the words on the paper
Each word a new battle fought, with passion
The war is won with each purposeful stroke of the pen
I breath without ever using a lung
Inhaling when the pen hits the page
Exhaling as the words flow smoother than any air
The life is lived when the poem is written