It lives
It breathes
It breathes
Let me breathe life into it.
The pulse of the ink on the page
Races faster than an infant’s young heart
The paper is alive
And so it changes
Against every tick of the clock
The paper lives
Through words frantically scribbled
Through art carefully doodled
Through notes sung between the margins
The paper lives
It cries out to be heard
To be seen
To be said
The paper lives in itself
By the life contained in ourselves
So release your soul onto a page
And let your heart be free
Let it give life to a page
Because the paper is alive.
This is great! I love it when artsy stuff is translated to poetry. I'd critique it, but I don't know much about poetry - despite being a poet; I am a newbie - and I am in a slight hurry. But good job.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Danny! I love poems just because they're so much more personal (to me) than any other writing.
ReplyDelete