Creation

Can you tell how you feel,

As the tree falls silent,

The beautiful leaves speak,

A dream of forever

Never to dissipate,

Only to become permanent,

For what the pen has wrote,

Is forever determined,

Let your prints imprint on the paper,

Once inscribed by love,

Smitten by the destruction of nature,

Has now become your drug,

But the curator of the substance,

And the happiness he brings,

Rings forever throughout time,

Never stifled by how the Chime rings,

So now I create,

What has brought upon my dependence,

Every day in a dimly lit room,

Poetry dons on me a pendant.