Sunday, April 1, 2018




She writes with passion
She writes with fear
The exploding 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.

Expressions not found in vocal utterances
But flows through her pen’s black ink;
The color she prefers to see
As she writes
Her emotions upon the page…
Her journey’s trials
As they move on from day – to – day.

Her pen is her emotional therapy
It is the tool within her hand;
The grasp is firm.
A natural place…
As she writes her words so full of grace,
Unlike her mind,
Which tends to race.
It is her peace through her seasons:
Seasons of sorrow
Seasons of joy
Seasons of peace
Times that explore…
Within her heart.

Her pen seems to find
What is hidden deep;
In different planes
At various times:
Six in the morning,
Or at night…
Written on the pages,
Is her journey’s plight.
With exploding words
From passion or tears,
One may understand
Her walk through the years…
When her trials awake
Or when she puts them to sleep,
Either or
They are hidden deep.
No one may see looking outward,
But read between the lines,
She is very forward.

It is her art
Of emotional release
The passion
The tears,
Of her words;
Are her peace.


She walked along an empty street;
The darkness of night blanketing her soul.
Left destitute and depleted.
Once full of life;
A heart that beat strong
With passionate love,
Was now barren.
Exhausted, from the existence
Of a tragic romance.
She bestowed every depth of her being;
Extending her hand-
Finding an unanswered reply.

Her love overflowed
Into a vacant wasteland of idle words.
Foolishness, Foolishness
She cries;
To give herself away
To an idle n’ inexpressible rendezvous.
Intimacy proved-
Fruitless, Temporary, Forgotten
After the door shut behind him.

So, her heart bleeds
With every abandoned step;
Mixing with the tears
Of unrequited Love.


Petals, red
As a beating heart
Feed by sun’s rays
Glistening with morn’s dew
Rooted in rich soil
Giving life, deep within
No hallow ground.
Stem, strong
Green, alive
Nature sings its beauty.
Protection, its thorns
Kept, radiance from harm
Those whose will’s steal
Capturing soft pedaled blooms
Only to retire when separated.
Whole, its parts; Strive
Yesterday's, today's and tomorrow's
Life giving beauty
Joyous solitude rooted deep
Bringing forth life;
State of repose, are
Petals, red.

©Stacia Lynn Reynolds


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