You can never stop me writing
no matter how trifling
these words may sound.

Even if only clichés fall
or nothing comes at all,
I will never put my pencil down.

Because it’s I the soft warmth of a poem,
like a lover’s arms, that I am at home,
and where, always, I will be found.

My heart beats with rhythm and meter
and it is lines and words I feed her
because to language I am fatefully bound.

I see the looks in their eyes,
the empty confusion they can not hide.
With them I will never find common ground.

But even if I am all alone
with only pen and paper to call my own
I will still take the long way ‘round.

I will never stop my pen
from letting go all I hold in
because only on paper am I safe and sound.