Dry Ink

Dry as parched soil

I have been unable

to touch pen to

plain, virgin paper.

The white hot glow

might have melted

my nib.

May have reduced

my soft innards

to a caramelised

dried and burnt

mess.

So here I have sat,

not daring to let words

flow.

Not daring to stitch them,

weave them into thoughts,

lest they prick the feelings

that lie buried in this wreck.

 

28/01/19

Author's Note

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

A amazing poem shared John. Written with a experience pen.
"Not daring to stitch them,
weave them into thoughts,
lest they prick the feelings
that lie buried in this wreck"
I do like the above lines. Writing can be easy and writing can be impossible. Thank you for sharing the excellent poetry. I liked this one.
Coyote

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Again I thank the kindness of your pen as I contemplate the energy needed for a 10k and more lol!

[Coyote Poetry]

You are welcome John.

[Beccy]

Ah yes, when the muse departs, as it often does, 'tis absolutely time to pause as the forcing of words is a pointless exercise and brings naught but a feeling of disappointment in it wake.

You speak for every writer everywhere here.

Beccy.

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Thank you Beccy. Not the first time and never the last for all of us. Part of the rich chemical reaction that is creation I am told!