The Pen

The pen is my friend
I bleed and he eases the pain

When the sieve is full

he pours it out-

Enough to fill

An empty space

or a spotless white parchment.

The rain comes to my mind

and he makes sense out of it.

Madness fills the air

But he makes symphony on

The cacophony of noises.

Now I swirl in pain

and hopelessness flung flayed

But with my pen, my dearest pen

There's peace.

And here I truly exist

as I would wish to exist

and more -