A heart is a pen.
A word is a thought
Brought alive by the truths we sought,
Left for dead in the wars we fought.
Some gods are just men.
I heard them all scream,
"Who strikes a match in a gasoline stream?"
The dream was a dream.
Cooped up in a quarry,
Madmen mine for a mad mind's glory.
Take the pen; this is not my story.
I am a pen with ink nearly dry.
Can't we make haste to those words left to die?
Can't we revive them, at least can't we try?
YOU ARE READING
Heartpen: Poems of a Cardiac Quill
PoetryAdventure calls to seekers from different eras, different towns, even different worlds. Paths cross. Journeys intertwine. This poetry book highlights mysteries that drive us. It explores loss, endurance, and the struggle to find truth. Featuring gr...
