No Longer a Poet
Take thine quill,
and with it write,
countless tales,
in black and white.
Tales of lost kids.
far from home,
feathered monsters,
dwarfs and gnomes.
Star-crossed lovers,
ill-gotten fate,
war torn kingdoms,
fuelled by hate.
So why then I,
quill firm in hand,
find my thoughts,
among the sand.
But truth be known,
the poets' lark,
does often sing,
when all is dark.
10.18.2022
Copyright © Charlotte Watkins | Year Posted 2022
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