Master's Feathered Quill
I
am
just
a white
feathered quill,
my master’s
only instrument.
I write every one
of his thoughts
until death lies still.
We've been together
through every sunrise
and rain of dreams.
In his hand I write
prose and poetry
in a metaphoric style,
Until he tires and rests
lays me down for a while.
Each moment is a holy pact
as verses become new glitters
of life---that we remain
bound together until
I run out of black ink.
For he's the main artist
and I… time’s quill.
Both of us have
lines to
sew.
We
are
a
D
U
E
T
//iii\\
Show Me Your Shape Contest
For Anthony Slausen
Resubmitted 2/18/2017
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2017
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment