The Lost Poem

Sitting on the floor
of my bedroom
one evening
I took paper - scrap,
destined for lesser things
than penning a

Ink to paper, flowing swift
Words come into view
Delicate, or scribbling
Old words are made anew

Put in patterns, some unique

Pen & Paper

Pen and paper,
Ink across the page...
Helps her escape,
From her invisible cage.

Feelings and emotions,
Pouring out

I worry for the day
                       

Darkness is so much more
Than a lack of light.
It has a life of its own;
A reverberating pulse
Pounding always, in the back
Of