Wasted Ink.
Rhymes fall cold upon the floor…
blind they run
beyond my saddened
pen to pause,
lost upon the page
that shuns their touch.
Those words, new born
unused redundant ink
has cast away.
© sweetwater 2023
Views: 550
Rhymes fall cold upon the floor…
blind they run
beyond my saddened
pen to pause,
lost upon the page
that shuns their touch.
Those words, new born
unused redundant ink
has cast away.
Great effort, I feel for you, I have written plenty of short stories lately, but the poetry will just not come or if it does it’s stilted and unusable.
Frustrating isn’t it, sadly I don’t have any talent for short story writing
and admire those who have the great ability to write both.
Thank you for commenting I appreciate it. Sue.