Creative fun in
the palm of your hand.
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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Psychology · #2097282
Brief Description
Walking in the The Daylight with dreams.
Puttering in the garden with reams
of future compost,
I set the refuse of my mind to paper.
The shed quills of the birds soaring above
litter the ground
The quills in my fingers trembling. THINK!
I search for the thoughts that were once abundant.
Ants gorge on Blood Ink.

There are Muses and there is Music.
The sounds of Laughter and Love litter the Earth
like blades of dying grass.
My mind is bitter with the want, the dearth.
I begin to sob.
Why do I fear to tell it as it is?
Why not humble myself and admit it all?
Truth can be an escape.

Lying in the Twilight with Whip-Poor-Wills.
Flagellating weak flesh with Words, like flails.
Listening to Night-Bird wails.
A Whip-Poor-Will's song means death is to come.
The ringing in my ears changes to a hum.
Is something dying?
Fate is All-Powerful, as many things are.
My mind is aswirl as with myself I spar.
I should write this down.
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