Of Writers, Like Reapers

By Echoes of Orpheus

The words laid in trenches;
Dug by a pencil tip
Pushing through dust.

Carbon whispers in the
Chilled air of a
moonlit November.

Words
Born into death,
Amidst eraser dust;

Amidst words deemed unworthy.

Pages are punished.
Desecrated with descriptive pain;
Like some form of
Gory graffiti.

In the hands of poets,
Pens become scythes
And Ink is laid like blood

Writing from pain
Makes any man a reaper.

Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited. Ask the author first.

Published on Thursday, November 20, 2014. Filed under: "Poetry"

Author's Note:

An attempt at more 'dark' poetry. I am rusty

Comments on "Of Writers, Like Reapers"

On Thursday, December 21, 2017, Cassette (1087) wrote:

Your rust might be my gold, Dylan... man... wish I could have "rusty" writing this good.
On Tuesday, November 25, 2014, Fantecstasy (120) wrote:

I thought it was really good. The unification was excellent with no metaphors straying... You should be really proud of this, *tips hat*
On Friday, November 21, 2014, TropicalSnowstorm (1580) wrote:

"In the hands of poets, Pens become scythes" - great imagery! You don't appear to be rusty at all. Ciao, T/S
On Thursday, November 20, 2014, soul_versing (774) wrote:

Words dying before even hitting the page to define its reasoning. I find this to be delicately grim. You, sir, have gained my attention.
On Thursday, November 20, 2014, Pride Ed (107) wrote:

Still good! lol I feel like a reaper now.