words

words

With words I am lost
With a pen
I am free
I feel the things, I can not see
And yearn to be, what I can not be.
If the words I write
Would come to life
Then I could say all
That need be said.
What proof of luck would I have?
If I spoke and was unheard
What a waist of time it would most definitely be
But if I wrote with sweat and tears, with
The blood that runs though my veins I would most definitely be heard.