Paper, Ink, and Sweat

Words swirl inside my head like pillars of light,
I grasp onto the strands and wait:
I wait for them to makes sense,
Incoherent buzzes of truth are all I have.

Like a lump of clay waiting to be formed,
Crumbled paper, cold ink, and the smell of sweat
Become my molded masterpiece;
Sometimes a tear or a smile in the recipe.

An artist with a secret for only paper to know,
Paper and people willing to understand:
Incoherent buzzes are often misunderstood.
but the artist will weave a tapestry.

A tapestry of words that swirl inside my head,
With colors of emotion waiting to make sense,
I weave a tapestry with paper, ink, and sweat.


Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.


If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741