Friday, May 29, 2020

Writer's Block

Ink filled pen, 
Themeless mind, 
Wandering as in den, 
And suffer as blind. 
Blurred image of ash
Flew without wings
And rest in mirage. 
Quietened lungs
Breath the pages
And broke the glass
And the lovely images 
Too rest in the grass. 

No comments:

Post a Comment

To Pappa

Pappa, I hate you for leaving without a word, Vanishing from our lives, your voice unheard. I hate you for departing with that gentle smile,...