The air is tense,
Screaming’s dense,
In this void, desolate,
Sense of mind.
Pages fall victim to,
The silent muse inside of you,
From haunting chills of your bone,
To new-found bliss in venom’s spew.
This quill: my surreal escape,
My shade from sun, my solid cape,
Forever in words i’ll hide, I’ll be obscure,
With scribbles as my guide, I’ll find a cure.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Our quill will be a good pacifier on the pages of pain! Wonderful poetic depiction!