Fruitless Ink
My pen was once filled
with all the possibilities
of seed,
enlightenment,
even therapeutic denial
but now it's though she's wordless
from all those verses
malady sucked from her bones
when marrow was too thin
and hope was a loveless man
who left via the white horse
My theory is:
heart truly believed
poems were the wings to soul's freedom,
but I suppose it was only a metaphor
and poetry
never really grows it's own skeleton
or feathers
or can even soar for that matter
(yet somehow, it flew away from me)
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
