Words cry from within. A whisper, a sigh, a relief to let fly.
A shriek, a scream, to wake from a dream but as well to create.

I do not know where they come from, these words that appear,
so black on my pages, and yet deep down so clear.
They flow from my fingers, they flow from my soul.
If I do not release them I cannot be whole.
The voices inside me all clamor to be heard.
I must let them out but I can’t say a word.

Sometimes they’re angry. They seethe and they writhe.
They shout out their frustration, they demand to know why.
Sometimes they weep,
with a pain born so deep.
I drown in the sweetness of their sapphire tears.
They sob and they wail, and yet no one hears.

Sometimes the voices, they tempt me within.
They softly seduce, they suck my soul in.
Each word is possessed,
I am gently caressed,
their touch sends a shiver all over my skin. I know that I shouldn’t but I want to give in,
to let go, to give up, to enjoy their sweet sin.

And other times the voices, are joyful and glad.
Like sun’s golden rays they burn through the sad.
They laugh and they dance,
they smile and prance.
So innocent, so trusting.
So far from greed and all fear and mistrusting.
Their rippling laughter, like a babbling brook,
wells deep from within some fairy tale book.

Sometimes the voices they speak not at all.
Their silence disturbs so much more than there squall.
I feel that without them, my soul will be lost.
Wandering endlessly, encased all in frost.

Words are like fire.
Sometimes they’re angry, they growl and consume. They crackle they snarl, they burn with desire.
They will not give up, they’re a ravenous beast.
Only once there is nothing but ashes and soot, do they leave and conclude this terrible feast.
However this fire, is not without its allure.
It’s exploding with passion, a star oh so pure.
I want it to consume me, I long for its flare. So much so, that the inferno I would happily endure.
Also like fire, words can be gentle and warm.
Like the flame of a candle, they can cause me no harm.
Like a soft glowing ember, a gentle orange coal, these flames whisper kindly, no cause for alarm.
The flames of a hearth fire, gently lulling to sleep,
like a flickering lullaby in a tired child’s rest, oh so deep.

Words are like water, sometimes cold sometimes warm.
Sometimes gentle sometimes sad, sometimes raging within like a violent storm.