with the picking up of my pen
I become the scribe
recounting quiet moments only lived by I
filling pages with my secrets in an
attempt to speak the unspoken
longing to expose that hidden voice
only heard in dreams and visions
from the midnight hour to morning
that voice from childhood when we
laughed with angels and never dared
not to believe
the scribe
stretching my mind, and my emotions
continuously pouring small portions of
myself, my inner being, my soul
into each word leaving my presence
inked upon the page
moistening my mind
while silence stirs inside of me
mixing with the memory of my emotions
simmering into  a secret potion
soon to be released by the scribe