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Passion Flows Upon Page


Dave Frazier

I spill the ink upon blank page,

Words flood through me, overwhelming.

Cascading throughout my mind, unending,

Drives me forward to the telling.

Page does accept every movement of pen,

Holds true the stroke and ink,

But its the words that do the telling,

Do impart my feeling, lay bare my soul.

Each word meant for each other,

Together my story they tell,

Apart their meaning does fade,

Like a single flake of snow in the sun.

Not pen, nor paper, nor perfect word,

Could harness the passions of my soul.

Is paper's surface so pure to truly reflect?

Does ink flow truly as blood from my heart?

Only words crafted truly, one with another,

Could sing the threnody of my heart and soul.

A single note betrays the depth of a symphony,

As a single word too shallow to contain the depths of a passionate heart.

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