Poison Pen Poem

Kevin Michael Bloor

A poet pens in petty places
among a crowd of fretting faces.
The soul he spills upon the pages
lays down, like youth, while body ages.

He's lost, but lines from fevered fishing
fall fresh, from pen, like poison pissing.
They stain, with sin, his pristine paper.
Composing's such a chronic caper,

he thinks; and all that time he's wasting!
Offloading trash that's not safe tasting.
Yet, strangely, as the ink is sinking
it slowly soothes his troubled thinking!

  • Author: Blue-eyed Bolla (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: August 31st, 2022 03:02
  • Comment from author about the poem: my first poetic outburst for a while. Yep, that's all I've got - for now
  • Category: Reflection
  • Views: 11
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