Strong Words

A heated pen
Controls my muse
And paper burned
Loses its use,
But still the ashes
Sing the chorus
Of fiery unrehearsed

A shaking hand
Writes the words
Of anguished tales
Of strangled birds.
The blood is left
Upon the wall
While watching,
We stand tall.

A bleeding soul
Cries out in pain
Blots out the past
With mournful rain.
But when the tide
Draws back we see
A sorrowed mark
Of misery.

A pressing truth
Unearths its voice
And tells the people
To rejoice.
Although their words
May disappear,
Their impact is
Forever here.