My words can not always be written,
of't they are silenced by
In peace and tranquility, also,
I can not write;
for nothing stirs my soul.
It is between,
as in betwixt and between,
when i am living,
that my heart has fire
and these words,
coming tumbling out.
The chill in the air,
can not freeze them.
The rain can not wash them away,
for it is now that i am living.
Pain and suffering are my teachers,
but they can not write my words.
The quietness of my soul,
can not speak,
now that speaks volumes
and it is of life that i write.