Black Blood
Creation,
Destruction,
One and the same.
For to make a verse
Is still at worse
Just bleeding onto a
Innocent page.
Scarring it,
Marking it
With a unknown, subtle rage.
Leaving impressions
Of time immortal
With
Blood
As black as ink
As thin as paper
And as potent
As a perfect
Sentence.
This is the devil
Of the woody grains
That you can see
In writing's
Growing pains.
For like how
A flask
Is an alcoholic's paint brush,
A pen to a writer
Is a razor
That
Slowly shaves away at
The heart
With
Fingers like words
And wrists like rivers.
This poem is about:
Me
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated:
Comments
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Catherine Dallas
8 years ago
Despaite the dark mood that this poem is impregnated with I truly like it. I'm not a writer and this is judgment call but I daresay you are good at it, keep going! I'm not as talented as you so when I need to do my writing task I usualy check examples of writing at Essay Writing Blog - with this I manage to save a lot of my time and get excellent marks.