Seems I do love each tattoo,
making each lie forever true.
While I begin now, once again,
let paper be kissed by my pen.
Crafting all these clever designs,
penned out in unparalleled lines,
that only then dare to intersect
here, at loneliness and introspect.
As I feel the quip of this quill,
once more, do what it will,
leave a bold, bloodied trace —
leads me to all I now must face.
Each one, a true signed confession,
becomes my dearest possession,
in a world where nothing will last,
fading into this erosion of my past.
Leaving these words left to say —
the final lines in an impassioned play,
meant to be read in soft soliloquy,
heard by no one but me.
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Author:
Libellule (
Offline) - Published: May 16th, 2025 05:49
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 8
Offline)
Comments2
Internal dialogue that happens in us all is more pronounced in some than others. This poem speaks to that dialogue and the reader is privy as an outside observer. A lovely write
I love the elegant ink of this inspired soliloquy !
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