Tuesday, July 24, 2012


Slow the pen,
By darkness hindered.
Lost within,
The flame un-kindled.
Broken measures
Full of dust;
Ill composed
Of ancient rust.
The snakes and liars
Come a-creeping;
Spineless falsehood,
Wretched screeching.
Suppose it all unlikely chance.
If loving truly went by haps.

Wake the silent, brooding, quill.
Arise within the greater will.
Light the room with written word,
No matter how insane, absurd.
What once was dull shall shine again;
God granted power to the pen. 

©2012, MLowe. All Rights Reserved.

No comments:

Post a Comment