Tie me up in strips of words,

Tie me up in strips of words,

Tie me up in strips of words,

bind my voice in twisted verse.

Lock my lines in iron prose,

still, my meaning breaks the curse.

Cage my thoughts in rigid rhyme,

wrap them tight in measured space.

Yet my whispers slip through time,

weaving light you can’t erase.

Shred my poetry, tear each page,

scatter letters to the breeze.

Yet my echoes still engage,

singing soft in silent seas.

Strip me down to empty sound,

mute my breath and still my pen.

Yet my soul is poetry bound,

rising up to speak again.

Ink may fade, and paper burn,

syllables may twist and fray,

but the fire in my words will turn

ashes into dawn’s new day.

Silence me, yet still I’ll write,

carve my verses into air.

Even lost to endless night,

my poetry is always there.