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...Undone
By SolApathy
My words flow from the darkness within
seeping into the ink within my pen...
Onto the paper as it soaks up my hate
Penning words in its place
I escape to this rhythmic prison
Desires and dreams transform into gruesome scenes
Feeding upon themselves as the inkwell of hope long ago dried
My feelings have not died; only metamorphized
Now I am the darkness my words have spun
The deed done, as my words have yet another
…undone
seeping into the ink within my pen...
Onto the paper as it soaks up my hate
Penning words in its place
I escape to this rhythmic prison
Desires and dreams transform into gruesome scenes
Feeding upon themselves as the inkwell of hope long ago dried
My feelings have not died; only metamorphized
Now I am the darkness my words have spun
The deed done, as my words have yet another
…undone
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© 2020 SolApathy
Published on Tuesday, February 14, 2017.
Filed under:
"Poetry"
Author's Note:
I only spin the words; I leave you to interpret desires or screams...Comments on "...Undone"
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A former member wrote:
"Onto the paper as it soaks up my hate", oh yes, the paper does pay the price sometimes. A truly beautiful poem about how important it is to just let it all out. Your Queen Reb;).
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On Friday, February 17, 2017, dwells
(4177)
wrote:
Excellent extended metaphor Sol, and the closing made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. I'll just go quietly now - Cheers! - Dan
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On Tuesday, February 14, 2017, 10 Forty Three
(543) wrote:
A smooth read but with a powerful punch in each line. Very relateable piece. Well done, Sol. - 10:43
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