it's dangerous to leave a writer
alone with her musings.
they sharpen her tongue
blunt her words
eat up her appetite
transcend her
move her
fuel her furious will
the grasp of her quill
plummeting
bubbling
twirling
spilling
tipping
over
the
edge
melancholy?
some inexplicable mourning
the death of sentiments
moored yet resurfacing?
shattered shards mirroring
the bundles writhing in her head
lashing strides on pale pine
boiling bafflement,
flaming furore,
timeless nostalgia,
the roar of affection.
the magic dulled her senses
numbed her pain
offered her companionship
in the queue awaiting an epiphany
she turns to her art
scribbling
crumpling
scratching
crossing
chasing the adrenaline of relief
the euphoria of being seen
even if the only witnesses are the bleeding pen
in her hands, the glassed over eyes, and the
crisp graze of autumn's auburn air—
they sigh in contentment.
YOU ARE READING
her musings - poetry
Puisia collection of poems i write to understand myself more and relief my ever-evolving emotions on love, loss, yearning, my passions and my connections with other humans.
