By Tavisha Roy
I wrote until my pages came to a halt,
The awakening of the depths of my soul,
That leaked through the very ink I held,
Letting it loose all upon the board.
The words seeped through me,
Feeble yet so bold,
Like a vein that was cut with an abruptness,
Like blood that ran sharp and cold.
My mind beheld an empty pot,
A wish of moulding itself into a white wall,
One with desires of aspiring meanings,
Waiting to be written with gracious strokes.
A mouth that strives to speak,
Of words that hold no sound,
But with great meanings come a certain legacy,
Endangered and unbound