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by Anon
Rated: E · Poetry · Research · #917643
old mistakes and new chances. the past always leaves traces
A new sheet. The last.
The brilliant white shouts innocence
but it is about to be spoiled
by the rise and fall of my pen.

I start slowly,piercing the innocence with my nib,
ink spilling slowly from the wound.
I wait for it to heal, to clot over. Then blot it out.

No one knows
apart from the faint scars,
mere traces of the history that befell it.

A new sheet. The last.
It is not spoiled.
© Copyright 2004 Anon (neverland at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/917643-a-letter-to-myself