Dry

I think this will be my last...

Your eyes no longer read the words I write, this silence deafening. Within the confines of the cage within my chest, this withered organ's beats are slowing; it yearns for more but cannot reach out. There was a voice once, a poet's song from once before. But the tongue is stilted, those lungs filled up with brine; drowning in the harrowed past and uncertain future. Those for whom the words are written care naught the poet's pointless prose. So I lay down the pen I've held for so long, and let the ink run dry...

Reviews

[Tai Ryens]

What's the point of writing if they, whom you write for, care no longer? You depict that painful feeling of wanting more but lacking the means with such agonizing passion and it's brilliant.

Hate to see you go, but may life's journey lead you to fortune. Hopefully one day you'll bring the pen to the paper once more.

[kk]

Woah. You should be famous. This is great.

[The Iron Horseman]

Very sad and touching. But if you can still write this, you will recover. Chin up and give life a kick in the teeth, poet!