I sing to my hero
Tales of my past.
Words of joy and sorrow
Never less exchanged.
The one I worship,
And adore.
Is uncommon,
And not human.
It isn't a beast,
Or mother nature.
The one who saves,
And gives;
The hero be my journal,
Yellow with three volumes.
It's an odd thing,
I do agree.
Whereas if all left,
It remains.
With each entry,
For me, the peace is gained.
My mind deludes me,
With all thoughts.
Urge to write,
Relieves the pain.
The pain,
I whole heartily endure.
My savior
Helps me live.
If only,
Another day.
Without the pen,
Words unseen.
Death upon me,
If none of markings.
I can tell all,
Without a lie.
It keeps
Me from
My ever growing
Doom that hangs above.
Empty, loneliness
Fills the soul.
The despair
Ever grows.
Without my journal,
The suffering stays.
It prevents me
From the knife,
And thoughts
Of death.
My journal,
Is my hero.
I keep from death,
And live till old age.