Written With the Blood from My Heart

“Once I wrote a poem

About my most beautiful hopes

It was a poem I wrote for myself

And no other has ever read it

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Though the words were written by black ink

Still I wrote the poem with my own blood

My blood I spilled for every word

And my soul gave the form to the poem

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The words had been born in my heart’s core

Sentences formed in the flames of my dreams

My hand was the hammer forging the words

And on the white paper the poem was formed

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For me the poem was the weapon of might

Only weapon that could strike me to the ground

No knife nor sword could hurt me like those words

If someone had read them aloud to me

-

For that poem was written with my heart’s blood

There was everything that had been me

Every dream, every unspoken thought

All I had locked inside the chest of my soul

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Only my own eyes laid upon the poem

Those words were forbidden to others

And only wind I let read the ending words

And now I hear how winds repeat them

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The song of wind, so beautiful but bitter

In the song were heard the words of my heart

Every gust of wind like a knife stabbing my heart

For I could not hold the secret to myself

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That’s why I cry, that’s why I bleed

For the eastern winds sing silently my words

And the words tear apart my heart and my soul

And I know I can never reach my dreams

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Still I listen that silent song

Just repeating those few words

The words I once wrote with my blood

And then let the wind took them within

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‘Fly’ winds whisper, ‘fly away to the skies

In you dreams fly on the wings of a dragon!’”

(By: Wyrd)