My Sacred place

   My sacred place

I’m in a place where a hard chestnut desk  is in front of me with paper as white as clouds and pens, midnight colored,awaiting my hands

I write songs word by word as if they were on a record then I sing them to a wall, it sings them back

I feel the pen moving in my hand and the songs being written on the gritty paper

I hear a soft and sad song with an occasional drum beat and a smooth sound of an electric guitar

I see the sturdy, chestnut, wooden desk and the cloud white paperback notebook that holds songs like a graveyard

The hardships and the yelling of the tv is not with me

My sacred place is any quiet  classroom before class starts.