Staining The Paper Poem by Jesse Ellsbury
Staining The Paper
Rating: ★5.0
Poetry
used to come easy,
the words would flow from my soul
like ink from a pen
blood from a wound,
staining the paper,
I died too soon.
Poetry
used to be instinct.
There was no effort,
I wrote like I breathed,
but the breath became labored,
I wheezed
into bags of paper,
crumpled
and thrown in the trash.
Monday, July 15, 2013
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5/10/2024 8:51:36 PM # 1.0.0.1119
This is great, know just what you mean. Inspiration is often absent without leave. Very well expressed.