Pages Of The Heart Poem by Bette Dalia

Ink spills through the page like blood in the heart
Filling every inch of space
With every stroke, with every pump taking it's time
Just to write it's story
Pages have been torn, burned, and wrinkled...
Oh how fragile the pages and heart can be
In the heart there is more beauty than words can describe
There is a point where ink will run out
But that only means a novel has been completed
Pages of the heart must now be turned...by the heartbeat of another