The Little Black book

The mind held a million and the pen strived to word
When the lips sealed to speak and the voice wasn’t heard
In a pocket the words fit, in a pocket they were read
For in the same pocket, the little black book was kept

Every realm of the mind, of the world, his world
The pages turned to unveil, all that was unheard
It looked the size of insignificance but not in real
For all thoughts were in it, all that one would feel

It wasn’t fancy, the book, nor was the writing in it
The grammar and the sentences inside, did not fit
It was too personal a statement, personal a story
Beautiful in many facets and in parts gory

He wouldn’t visit the black book, for it wasn’t to see
It was a vent out of the moments that used to be
In secrecy was it pledged, an unsaid hiding place
His mind was the locker and the key was lost in space