There is suffering at the writer's pen
Every broken part of you, revealed
With each stroke of blood and salt

Teeth gritting with pain at remembrance
Of what you thought was hidden from probing eyes

Fists tightly clenched white
As the innermost parts of your humanity
Are mocked between words
And confined by lines; imprisoned

Seeing life as a reason to create,
To have your soul rebirthed in truth,
Is salve for the torn and unmended
But woe is me, i am undone..

02/13/2002