The poetic sense

From my mind to the quill, I feel,
These emotions locked inside.
I only want to share my words,
For their power I cannot hide.
I must in some way transcribe,
To make those understand.
The poetic prose and reflections,
Translated from my pen in hand.
Awe, but last to know the impression,
To see the ink written in black,
To read what was inspired,
As it begins to read back
Will I laugh?
Shall I cry?
Will I see my own soul?
What is known through my penmanship plight?
For all that transcribes are also known to write.
The breath in which the paper takes,
From the way the pen is held,
Shall come to life like an open book,
With its many stories it has to tell.
The artistic balance of literary the true form,
Like that of paintings old.
Will be viewed by public’s eyes,
In all its beauty foretold.
What shall they see?
Will they be inspired?
Shall it touch their very soul?
To be poetic by what they know.