Relate to me, slit from stone
The stuff of legends, myth
Made of blood and bone

Speak to me, like musicians talk
Lyrics and veins, thumping foot
In time to a broken beat, off key walk
Singing of hope and tied up tired, moot

Talk about nothing but dreams
Whisper blasphemy and inbetweens

Rip the start from the page, pick up
in the middle
Past the moments that sparked hearts
After beginnings fade to dwindle
Into double talk and abstract art

Correct me when I'm right, banish me alone
When I've done my wrong, after I've turned my cheek
So I can compose epic verse and poem
Hidden and cast off, concealed and meek

In written word, I can spread my wings
Gaze upon my domain of language and 
the emotive prose
Deep down, where the heart sings
Where the soul babbles out its echoes

Constant companions with both dark
and the light
The past, always running me down
Gaining on my heels
The hollow rhythms do sound
Off the stone of my lungs
Breathing soot and molten
Lava

Blistering sweet denial, quite contrite
Of when the world crumbled, when my earth burned
When thoughts could eclipse the sun
Cast me into forever glare of moonlight
Stumbled along in premorning, spurned

Retell my tale, spilled from poem
The stuff of verse, fable
Made of blood, and of bone


Give me my pages, my journals and tomes
My words, my language
Give me my pen, so I might not be alone