With this pen and these words, I’ll write until my fingers bleed and my mind is empty.
I’ll fill page after page after page with the lyrics of my heart.
The beating rhythm that thrums to the sounds of inspiration.
I’ll never stop creating stories or telling lost tales that beg to be told.
With this pen and these words, I’ll leave a legacy of legends and myths.
Poetry will stand upon my feeble bones as I grow old, and it will fight for me.
“Here this woman is that speaks with a golden tongue, whose words are set in ruby fires and risen by oceanic aspirations.”
When no words are left, my pages will talk for me.
When my tongue is dry and I’m of shaken hands and wrinkled skin, my words will remain.
A legacy I leave in crinkled pages.