What is it about these pages
that trap ink, 
and, yet, free me? 
They listen without judgment 
and instruct without decree.

These pages
absorb my mind’s heavy blows with ease.
To them,
my turbulent thoughts are air. 
I’m sure it’s for good, 
my naked thoughts
are stripped by that which does not care.  

These vaulted pages
release my inner darkness;
my soul has room to breath. 
Lies are now plain and vulnerable
on this fallen tree.  

My words on these pages 
seek light and bring quiet, 
but, I don’t really buy it, 
that these pages transform and rescue me.  

These pages are my prayerful quest, 
capturing words 
to discern any concern. 
I know my words have no power;
it is to the One True Word I turn. 

Two thousand years ago, 
the Original Word
hung on a different, fallen tree. 
His light and truth saved me from darkness and lies; 
for Love’s words
are the ultimate power 
and write the pages of history.