I squeeze the ink from my pen
Forcing the words on the page
Dusty they are from the basement
Ragged they are from old age

Scratchily they scrawl themselves
Marking the paper in agony
Marking the meaning of yesterday
Running because they are free

Brought from the depths of memory
Coated with the dust of regret
Pale from the lack of sunshine
Words from centuries kept

Living and breathing on paper
Once again seeing the light
Sighing, my fingers all aching
Tortured from wrestling the night

I close the journal of my past
Filled with the words of my pain
Tomorrow when the day shines once more
Will I venture to read them again