Wednesday, 23 October 2013

Seeping To A Stop, At My Fingertips...

There is a creek in my blood stream,

Where the ink flows and my words float.

They rush through my body, melded with the blood

Drop by drop, intoxicating my being.

As my body hums, as it goes numb.

With blood it gushes through the empty vessels,

Containing them, fulfilling.

It turns back from the edge of my lips,

Seeping to a stop, at my fingertips.

From there it flows out, pouring on the paper

Draining from my body, the infinite supply.

The ink blemishes, never running out

Spilling onto the white,

Marring the pure blankness.


Sunday, 13 October 2013

The Days Before Yesterday

In the dreary cold,

When nothing bore fruit

A single rose,

All by itself grew

'It wouldnt live', they said

'In the dull winters

that were so cold'.

But the little bud grew,

On and on. And

The petals turned

Velvety and strong.

And before they knew it,

It was a full blown rose.

That even on it's own

Had beared the harsh cold.