Too content to write.
Too content to look past the length of sight.
At last, I can hear the birds outside!
But blank pages stay dry, ’til silence drives me to lines where I confide.
Finally! I can smell the candles burn.
But to hide behind the clothing of words is what these empty pages yearn.
The warmth of a blanket, I was once too numb to feel.
Clockwork behind my eyes, the constant spinning of a wheel.
A distraction from my lover’s lips, that I now can taste!
More than before, while paper misses ink that can’t be erased.
Writing about the words I was too content to find?
What a silly gimmick from a clearly desperate mind.
But it seems to have done the trick after all!
No ink stained scrap goes wasted, even if crumpled to a ball.
Scribbled text, like butterfly effects.
Fulfilled it’s part, that helped strengthen the next.
A heart left poured, thoughts linked to a hand and pen; words explored.
Pages, and pages more, when sadness escapes me like today, the pen shows me what
I’m thankful for.
– Paul Nazifi
If you’d like to check out more of Paul’s creative work be sure to follow his Soundcloud
Unfiltered Minds 