With a quill in my
Hand and a tear-stained
Sheet of perfect paper before
My noisettes eyes,
I can overcome any
Obstacle--
Any amount of suffering--
That may threaten my
Grandiose fortress.
As words hastily prance
Across the page I
Venture into the uncharted
Territories of my brain
That most are too
Afraid to unveil.
I adventurously map out each
River,
Each impeccable mountain
Range,
Each waving coastline,
And I'm baffled
By the beauty
Of the danger.
Instead of rose-colores lenses,
These ones are
Black,
Like the ink I bleed:
Cut deep
And dip your feather in
Letting it leak,
Covering each white
Imperfection.
A penny
Is far too frugal
For these words
That I bleed.
They heal all imaginable wounds,
Even those they fester in.