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The Writer

by sharara295

In the dimly lit room, his eyes strain to see the small words. They keep coming, ink to paper. He cannot stop himself. With each new word, and unspeakable thought, he finds his salvation. The pen understands. She knows. She lets him cry, tears pouring through her. Hours pass. His eyes are narrow slits, the light unforgiving. Black tears continue to fall, ceaselessly forming words onto the parchment that is his heart.
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sharara295

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Comments (1)

RebeccaYSPerez
<p>I absolutely love this poem! being a writer I always loedit when people wrote about us, I&#39;m sure you feel the same. however I have yet to come across a poem of mine that I think can show our bond with the pen and page like you have done, so I thank you for sharing.</p><p>Though you did say pen in the poem I was recently reading and watching &quot;The Perks of Being a Wallflower,&quot; so I kept thinking of Charlie in his nice &quot;writer&#39;s&quot; suit and the typewriter Sam gave to him. It&#39;s a nice collaboration to occur in my mind.</p><p>Lovely piece!<br />Becca.</p>

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