• mathilde 16w

    I am nothing; but a mere pen

    I am like a pin,
    Stitch poems from within;
    Sometimes called mightier than a sword,
    'cause i have a beast within me...

    I am poised,
    Like the lady by the lake;
    I craft my own creation,
    And leave marks behind every recreation...

    Writing little proses,
    Spreading the ink over the folds of the crumbled page;
    Move to and fro on the dead pressed tree,
    'Tis is thy rage...

    Evolving from a feather,
    I saw history ; I made history,
    The writers who died kept on writing their mystery...

    The thoughts might not last,
    So I carve them on the page,
    In the momentary secrets i drown,
    Writing the poem from the ink of my cage...