Lady With Pen

In the midnight hour she cried no more. Her mind as she tried to sleep cried out encore. She wrestled with the demons and spirits of the night. Tossed back and forth beneath the sheets so right. Anguish within her soul longing for a rest. Words so soothing to the soul cried for the best. Pulling back the bed covers away from her torso. Candlelight on her table still aglow. She moved towards the table her mind set on a battle. Within her grasp lie her pen now all was quiet in the den. Thoughts from her mind were silent. Words she began to write they were to the soul ointment. Images she painted and stroked with her pen. Striking her page as a trained marksmen. Verses they began to intertwine. So soothing one would sip like fine wine. She finished her poem a poem she named the phantom.