As words take flight from inner being,
writing thoughts as yet unseen.
Light that reaches deep within,
penetrates places it hasn't been.
Through coloured windows long since covered,
new worlds have yet to be discovered.
The light breaks in through dusty air,
that dances with each motion there.
Through cobwebs thick, it writes its way,
clawing through each and every day.
Time since buried in inner places,
it writes through long ago distant spaces,
Through sombre rooms all wrapped in white,
with unstirred air, and kept from sight.
It glides through outer gates that creak,
and untamed gardens blown dry and bleak.
A sword stood guard for countless ages,
to keep this pen from writing pages.
It fought the world, kept all in doubt,
and would not let true feeling out.
This mighty sword, both sharp and strong,
placed quill in darkness it didn't belong.
Said, "None will reach this castle deep,
and into inner sanctum creep."
In silence the quill sat still and meek.
Its depth and strength, it did not seek.
pale and hidden away unknown,
as life passed by the inner home.
But magic yet will weave its way,
Past sword, and rust and dust, will pray,
for clarity and healthy spirit;
sing joyfully the world to hear it.
Open wide the rusty gates,
the boarded windows, the soul elates.
Cough and blink, as life seeps in.
The sword laid down by mighty pen.