#1020272 added January 7, 2022 at 12:57pm Restrictions: None
Writing Season
Must I possess inspiration to
reach, clutch, lift
this quill
to stab the very heart of you,
stain a page pathetic
with dreams...?
The dim light emitting
from two eyes glares
at a cursor pulsing.
Could a quill stain a brain
stabbed at its very heart?
Green it is,
but not earthen.
Blue and red spew, mix
on this clotted terrain.
I wish for the season
of penning vacuous odes
to end. These invisible breezes
barely brush a cheek.
Inspiration was
a cruel mistress.
I desire snow now.
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