Soul song.

When I put pen to paper
every word I write,
is the stroke of a paintbrush,
all my words somehow etch your face.
Much like the echoes of the ocean one hears in the caverns of a seashell,
as if to say,
even though I am now on the banks of your shores,
even though I am swept out by the tide of your depths;
where I once frolicked,
fearlessly;
treading choppy waters,
my feet having nowhere to find safe purchase.
Even though I am without hope of being pulled in by your ebb,
even then,
a piece of you I keep,
only found when I silence the world
and listen within.
Your echoes reverberate against my chest,
My soul sings your melody still.
I move to a rhythm only I can hear,
much like the trees which gently sway
when the wind is near,
My soul sings your melody still.

Comments