Menu

My Friend, The Writer

She sits at her desk,
pen to paper,
pen to mouth,
Scratching and
Scribbling away.

Her typewriter
Urgently ticks
To the rhythm,
and the tune,
of a never ending thought.

She is God.
A Creator.
A Lover.
A Child.
She is what she says to be.

She is a story of love
A story of betrayal.
A mindless vanilla ice cream
for the masses
She is a Philosopher.

She wakes up each morning,
and puts on a new face.
There is no force on earth
that can stop her,
For her weapons are her words.

She is

My Friend, The writer.
Katherine H. Belle
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
COMMENTS

Delivering Poems Around The World

Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...

1/27/2021 4:05:40 AM # 1.0.0.443