The power of the written word,
Though dark at times, clears the cogs
Clears their rust, oils their grind.
Like the panic of a hooked lined fish,
It thrashes me free, free from this barbed life,
Its, piercing strife.
Back into the darkest deep my mind swims,
In search of pearls, black ink curls,
And sunken treasured hymns.
Though my words may not ring bells for all,
My own church bell sounds
Unburdening with its chiming call.
Raises me up off my blackened knees,
Reveals the wood
Through darkened trees.
In lightest moments I pour words of love that if left, remain unsaid,
These words pour from my deepest heart,
My most secret head.
Copyright © 2017 Charlie Hasler.