The Writer And The Blood Inked Quil Poem by Adam M Snow

The Writer And The Blood Inked Quil



The Writer and the Blood Inked Quill
By: Adam M. Snow

The candle flickered by a passing gentle breeze;
My quill dries up leaving not I at ease.
My words upon page now left to hang.
A reader's disappointment, now a writer's pang.
Misery held me as time stood still,
My heart has fallen because my mind is ill.
I stare at blank page as all words elude me,
I can't help to wonder, 'How could this be? '
Torment follows as night falls victim to dread;
My ink once black now turns blood red.
I wrote my soul upon each page,
As time ticks by with every age.
The word itself scream an agony scream;
I, the writer without a dream.
But what bedevils myself to write,
Elude me once more with the fall of night.
My nightly whimper comes with a toll,
My life upon the page, now bearing my soul.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Liz Amos 19 June 2012

Wow. That was amazing.

0 0 Reply
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success