With healing pen draw out those bitter lines,
Which skulk and lurk behind my cheerless brow.
Through wretched veins ink seeps like crimson wine,
And velvet tears hushed secrets do endow.
Oh take these salted words from here my lips,
And there do scrawl our black, silentious runes -
Upon the passing sails of ghostly ships:
Where phantom gales may lend our verses tunes.
Where waxen moon will light with argent rays
Our solemn sonnet, and to all reveal,
How offering dark thoughts to Freedom’s waves,
Brings stifled hearts respite and spirits heal.
To those whose eyes a hundred words do hide:
True Love and Art come sole to those who’ve cried.