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 

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