The scratch of pen on paper
is like band aids
meant to patch our wounds
but not to heal them.
Without our words we bleed.
Emotions are like the blood cells,
flowing from our heart.
They keep us beating out
our verses;
but when our heart stops beating
the pressure builds
like silence,
in abandoned music halls;
eerie and unnatural.
Is it our own fear, and complexities
that keep our pens from writing?
When words are no longer enough
and our path seems lost
we fade to gray,
and come to think we will remain
forever silent.
but that cannot be the end.
I believe that sometimes our mind needs to seek
beyond our dreams;
beyond our words.
The truth...
we never leave the "path" that is life,
but there will be times when we find a few things
blocking it.




Theresa














32 old applause
