"The Writer in the Dark"
Such phantoms
Accompany no one else
Such time is spent
In no other hell
The only light is a tiny spark
Behold; a writer in the dark
Trapped and wrought
In a cave so lonely
Dreaming of Love
Oh my darling, if only
A tortured soul's wail, hark:
A wretched writer in the dark
Sullen self-punishment
Upon life's disparate wings
Waiting for the day
When the pen will make us kings
Face of the forgotten meadowlark
We hopeless writers in the dark
Upon a page hear us sing
O'er a bell that'll never ring
That word pretentious
Is our only job title
Touched and addicted
To our selfish holy bible
All of us hoping to make our mark
We unfortunate writers in the dark
Difference drilled into the brain
Always pushed to something else
Called coward by the world
Lying on the bottom shelf
Emotion in contrast bleeding stark
A forever wounded writer in the dark
Shedding tears as I trade
Shoulder boards for pen and sweater
Bracing against their disappointment
As I try to make my life better
Hatred wreathes those left off the ark
No one laments the writer in the dark
Upon this page hear me sing
O'er a bell that'll never ring