Poison Pen Poems

This passion for poetry’s poisoning me

I wish that my muse she would just let me be

My nights and my days I once spent in a dream

Now pen I hold poised while my senses all scheme

Those rose-tinted raptures and fanciful flights

I’ve swapped for composing through long lonely nights

Those needs I have nurtured, now spill on the page

(My soul’s secret sorrows, once kept in a cage)

It’s taking control of my thoughts and my time

It rules with a rod resonating with rhyme

This plague, they call poetry, festers in me

Old wounds it’s infected; for so long pain-free

Love’s lost lamentations I’d buried like bones

In sad, shrouded sepulchres solid as stones

Now breathe with the breath of the bitterest bile

In venomous verse that is vicious and vile

This passion for poetry, after my death

Will want to outlive me on my borrowed breath

I beg you to burn, therefore, when I am gone

This poor poet’s pages I’ve written upon.