Inkblot

Fighting, fighting and more fighting. Why do we keep fighting with the ones we love?

The pen is tired of fighting
back the words it could
not resist to write-
just as it could not hold
its tears, black and mad,
from tainting the paper,
now wet and filthy as mud.

The pen shall taint the paper
on and on to forever
till angst and tears run dry

By then, I’ll stop to rest
and bid us good-by.



March 2008