Pages; pages I write and pages I seek.

I search to find a source of comfort,

I strive to find a pen and paper,

But my hands are shy; my fingers weak.

 

Ink; ink that splatters, ink that stains.

It stains my soul in waves and shades.

Its immortality is tempting, confining,

But runs in rivers under rains.

 

The scratch and click, the brush and stroke

Caress the walls and floors forever.

They seek to find and finding; bleed

From crowns of tears that crying broke.

 

They break the minds of dreamers sighing;

Dreamers singing, dreamers flying.

From fire they burned, from thieves they stole.

Lovers they killed and rent the soul.

 

Words are sharp and words cut deep,

They tear the heart; let poison seep

From wounds that fester, wounds that quiver;

Grief that cuts and grief that shivers.

 

So pages I seek and pages I write

With ink that will stain; ink that will splatter.

I scratch and click and brush and stroke,

To still the heart and thoughts to scatter.