We learned to write
Across our shattered souls
The pen – bold
Its healing balms kissed our lips
And our heart’s songs were sung
We were made whole
We had sewn our own wounds
And our souls slept in silence
There is nothing like the sound of your own voice
There is nothing like the sound of your own tears
And when you hear them, you heal.
Put down the pen? Nay!
But raise it high to the heavens
And spill the contents of your beating heart
For nothing fans the flames of introspection
Like the lilted tongue of the poet
Or the flouncing rhyme of verse
May it heal you
May it make you whole
May you never lay down your mighty pen.
© Sumyanna 2016
Dear poet, dear writer, dear artist… may your pen never sleep.
Submitted for The Daily Post Prompt: mighty
Photo courtesy of Pixabay.com