nothing more

it is mostly in the pockets of quiet 
among the blaring noise 
that i calm my own heart 
with my line of choice 

is it stupid to rhyme then?
but it flows from my pen
has it all been nothing 
but a child’s whimsy of escape?

If i grow up 
i feel i leave my last threads of hope behind 
is that growing out of little me
or moving on instead?

am i nothing more 
than all in my head?

les’nspired