It swims within variety,

As if it were an ocean,

From sorrow to prosperity,

The image and emotion,

 

When the words make me cry,

I know I shouldn’t be afraid,

They sink and they fly,

And their message can degrade,

 

When the words make me smile,

In this ramshackled shell,

In a metaphoric style,

my heart just seems to swell,

 

It’s different for everyone,

Words are only a perception,

Some appeal to almost anyone,

Some persuade a misconception,

 

When panic plagues my mind,

Words will give me subtle solace,

They’re constructive and aligned,

And they live to serve a purpose.

 

There’s a reason poets cry,

And writers drink themselves to sleep,

Compassion pours out from their mind,

And it thrives when it’s in ink.

 

There’s a reason poets sing,

And writers kiss under the moon,

Just like winter, just like spring,

Despite their sorrow they can bloom,

 

Words are a necessity,

The foundation of our language,

Some provide them breathlessly,

While others sit in anguish.