What will I do with this pile of notebooks?
Will anyone ever be interested in reading
these musings, these words that bled
from my heart onto these pages,
late at night when I sat alone in a
quiet house wondering if I would
always be alone, if there would ever
be an escape, or if I would always
be captive to my circumstances.
Will anyone ever feel these words
wrap around them and keep them
warm on a cold night? Will these
words ever drift over someone
in their dreams and give voice
to their thoughts? Will these words
ever release someone from their pain,
their suffering, give hope to someone
sitting up late, alone in a quiet house,
wondering if they will ever be free?