Monday, August 1, 2016




She writes with passion.
She writes with fear.
The drying ink explodes with tears
Upon the page
As her words pour
From deep within.
Her heart cries…
Her soul aches…
As her words are drawn
On a blank white page.

Expressions not found
In vocal utterances,
But flowing through
Her pen’s black ink-
A hue she prefers to visually see,
As she writes
Her thoughts upon
The canvas of emotion
Her journey’s trials
As they move on.

Her pen:
Composing her symphony of thought…
A psychosomatic therapy.
The tool within her hand.
The grasp is firm.
A natural place,
As she writes her words
So full of grace.
Unlike her heart,
Which tends to race.

It is her peace
Through her seasons-
Seasons of sorrow
Seasons of joy
Seasons of peace-
Times that explore
Passion and fear
Within her soul.

Her pen releases
Thoughts hidden deep
In different planes
At various times-
Six in the morning
Or at night
Written on pages
Is her journey’s plight.
With words that resound
With passion or tears
One may understand
Her walk through the years-

When her trial awakes
Or when she puts them to sleep
Either or
They are hidden deep.
No one may see,
Looking outward
Read between the lines,
She’s very forward.

It is the art,
Of emotional release
The passion…
The tears…
Of her words; She finds
Her inner peace.

©Stacia Lynn Reynolds


Looking forward, to the day
Holding hands, a warm embrace
Breaking clouds dark n’ grim
A glowing light from within.
Our ships have sailed on rocky seas
Stormy gales, seemed no relieve
Upon life’s journey of broken hearts
Open wounds, n’ ripped apart
Torment replacing love once shown
Leaving emptiness, alone and torn.

The sun rises, with warm regard
Upon two souls who’ve struggled hard
To keep afloat during rocky times
Inner strength, together will find
Companionship rooted deep
Due connection, treasured to keep
Mutual admiration found
Deeper than skin, and soul bound.
Wounds turn to scars, which will remain
A reminder to strive toward inner gain.

©Stacia Lynn Reynolds

Encamped by memories
Hurt and pain
Is to torture one’s mind.
A mind of thought…

Once beautiful visions of hope
Pray does not die
In the constant cloud inside
In a dark repose.

Ravenous- Clouds
That circle within
Is it time to die?
Fight to win- To strive
To create, is the plane of hope

That shines down, upon
The heart that is lost
In an unknown world’s post
To seek-
To define the moment
To write what was lost
To live
And be divine, is
The striving power inside.

Lynn Reynolds

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