Words they always come out

Running through the forests of my mind

Whispering through my dreams

A floodtide in thought streams.

 

And they will not be stopped

But forever rise up in my heart

To the accompaniment of strange tunes

And the sound of different drums

 

For I am the writer

And thus must I sing my words

Before they languish and die

In the forgotten recesses of my mind.

~Helena Fernz~

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