Words drift across a page
In search of inner light.
But the glow of a lamp
standing
ominously
over my shoulder
forces the muse
into
a
corner,
making it shrivel up
in fright.
Words drip down the sides
of these pages,
and are splayed across
the little table.
Words rain over the table's edge,
making their escape
towards the floor;
seeped in carpeted carelessness,
they wait
to be
trampled on.
5 comments:
The words have temporarily dried up. But me likes. Although I am too caveman to admit I like poetry.
aw. a gooey centre leaks from the hardened exoskeleton. have u read kafka's 'the metamorphosis'?
anthropomorphising that which makes us anthropomorphic. splendid :)
nooj!
woohooo!
lovely piece lady Shafs/
keep it up~~~
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