DEVASTATION
Why does devastation create such great poetry?
The emotions bursting and exploding from every portion of my soul.
With pain so great, the words flow with ease.
Bleeding you, draining you of the pain.
Leaving you spent.
A therapy of release.
From the pen of your soul,
to the blank canvas of reality.
And what of those who find no release through the written word?
Do they suffer quietly from within
With no way to release their grief?
I feel for them, do they cope through a bottle, pills or fits of rage?
Once the written canvas is complete,
are the words just a reminder of the devastation?
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