I scribe.
I strive to revive what dies inside,
transcendent from the forms' perfection,
for the outside world in words, verbs;
action not meditation, there is a constant motion.
Expressive notion or just devotion to a sound, a noun
at a wavelength only I can hear, I fear
I am lost in the sound that is lost on you.
A resounding…
Yes!
I am lost on the world;
You couldn't hear me go.
Save for the scratch of pen on paper!
Scratching… an attempted escape.
Save me!
Hear me!
I scribe! I scribe!
I scribe until what's inside
bleeds out through cracks in the skin
created with a quill and quick cadence
meant to be reciprocated by voice,
and met with resonant content on your ear, and then over again...
I scribe! I scribe!
I scribe until what's inside
bleeds out through cracks in the skin
created with a quill and quick cadence
meant to be reciprocated by voice,
and met with resonant content on your ear, I fear
I am lost in the sound…
that is lost on you.
I scribe! I scribe! I scribe,
but I just want you to hear my voice by your choice, with your voice.
I just want to be heard.
