The pen against the paper drags,
Leaving empty sunken troughs.
Sounding a hollow scrape in the rag,
It's skin, like mine, scarred and rough.The words I write remain unseen,
For the ink it held had long since dried.
Like my eyes that have lost its sheen,
Yet, I tried and tried, to write I tried.The countless truths that I've denied,
All unsaid thoughts and empty words.
Imprisoned inside where they reside,
Stays unsaid, unread and unheard.A little drop of turquoise manifests,
As my pen surrenders from its traipse.
Flooding all the ravines amidst the crests,
And from the bonds of ineptitude I escape.
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Eleventh Hour Blues- Poems, Quotes And More
PoetryHere you will find aphorisms, poems, quotes and flash fiction presented from my heart to yours. This journal is filled with short and sweet reads for your daily commute, study breaks or whenever you desire. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I...