unwritten
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though blind he could see
though healed he still bleeds
though it is over he still grieves
though he is torn he proceeds
though young, he still leads
though memories fill his sleep
I'm unwritten like the sun in the sky
and the breeze in the air
a pencil and paper may
speak for me but
only I can write
my future
I'm unwritten and
Independent.
the sun beats down upon my face i ignore the bead of sweat, or was that a tear? staining my cheeks like running watercolor
The words are in my head
But not on paper in ink.
Forming oh so slowly,
It makes it hard to think.
I grab a piece of paper,
The pen is in my hand,
But why I am not writing,
I just can’t understand.
