My pen slips from my hands,
As ink flows from its tip;
And the minutes slip the day,
As thoughts flow from my mind,

Fragmented and broken as the ink's flow,
Still they're thoughts,
And I'm grateful for the words

Strings of quotes woven in a guise poetic,
That others only dream to hear
(I myself included)
From a lover's lips

And I must capture them here
Before all time, like a scroll rolls up before me,
And my pen runs dry as the rivers of my soul
Shall in the day it is lost

These words are my creed,
though they make little sense
Even to me; still I write and I shall read
When my mind turns to dust
In the day that it shall vanish
Like the sun behind the clouds

And I must capture it ere it does
Or I shall forever fade with the night.

12/16/2009

Posted on 12/15/2009
Copyright © 2024 Amie Golda