A layer of dust adorned his desk
The withered quill lay splayed out
A tiny pot lay perched, deprived of ink or the touch of a nib.
The damp smell persisted in the small room.
Piles of books stood unguarded.
The wooden floor creaked beneath his feet.
One slow step at a time.
He made his way to the back of the room.
Three years it had been since he last stepped in.
The death of his muse, killed something within.
His eyes wandered to the typewriter on the shelf.
A gift by her, he reminded himself.
The familiarity comforted him as his fingers ran over it.
Once seated, the squeaky old chair brought a smile to his face, reminding him of the better days.
Taking a deep breath in, he began to type
Re-starting the journey of his former life.
YOU ARE READING
Encrypted Anthology #wattys2016
PoetryI dabble with words and come up with poems. Sometimes they're not poems per se, but you get the gist right? Here are a couple I've written. I'm also entering this for The Wattys 2016. Would love your feedback, guys :D
