The Fossilized Glint...

I recognized those strokes,
Made long after the violence;
And, each of them evokes,
What was endured in silence.

Cornered in your own head,
You scour for the escape word;
You find what's to be said,
And now, you need to be heard.

You call the names out,
You too have many a friend;
Won't even one be about,
And won't she her time lend?

When even the winds hush,
And your angst nastily rumbles,
To your desk you do rush,
The pen, as your mind, burbles.

The ink dries to imprint,
A bit of you is bared on the page;
With your fossilized glint,
Someone someday may yet engage.