Mariah

the feelings running loose inside,

a desperate need to decompress

these poems help the hurt subside.

 

My pencil glides across the page,

words flow, my stress is soon released. 

Moments alone to disengage

from this life in need of peace.

 

I treasure written words like gold,

my own or other's secrets kept, 

freshly expressed or centuries old

long after death they're all that's left.

 

I write to heal, often to feel,

a place for passion to explore. 

Our precious word left as a seal,

marks on the world, can't be ignored.