Poetry comes to me at night
When the whole world turns quiet

I have with me a pen...
A blank paper
My thoughts...
My heart...
And some cheap wafer

I start to cry;
I hear my mind

Yes,
I weep because mostly I can’t seem to find

A way to make things better
To make my pains lesser

Then my tears begin to fill that plain white sheet

I watch as it weaves me a colorful cloth
Its beautiful complexity, delicately designed
Astounded, I'm left in shock
As the colors rush out like a flooded river
From my aorta, it's source, it makes me shiver

Yet I don’t stop to think
When it gets to me from that side

No,
My heart won’t let me do that thing
It won’t allow me take that ride

It’s because of the way I feel
And I believe...
From the beauty of poetry
I will someday heal.