When..

... mumble makes more sense than the mind
the soul of the pen tend to sit in the midst of the jumble
rearranging words until they form thoughts that no longer
resemble backward letters or upside down numbers.

...the seconds no longer feel like hours and the purpose
of the pad become clear to the pen as ink stains fill pages with
heavy thoughts that needed an outlet before the brain exploded sending
partials of madness in the atomsphere...

...life unfolds before the eyes and words purified the soul
paints pictures that moves the essence of the body along
this journey of living each moment as if it was the last
appreciating each microsecond of this grand display of life and living

...I have laid down this pen and bleed all that I am and
left pieces of me on pages telling my scars and fears
for all to see ...

when I am nothing but dust and all that I
was  has been recycle and some tiny portion
of me has replenished this land where I stand
will  I have died to begin again ...