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Poetry

It's only at night that you hear the faint whispers of the writer's pen trailing paper. [COMPLETED]

Creative soul

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by LeroyLakeWrites

by LeroyLakeWrites

When my creative soul

Longs for self-expression

I can't execute its restriction

Because only a searing hole

Will result

And to add insult

To injury

My brain commits perjury

and subjects me to a storm

Of millions of thoughts that worm

At the lock's hole

With liberation of all the creative flames

Being it's goal.

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So I tend to burn paper

Subjecting a number of dead tress

To my mind's napalm

To soothe the hole with a balm

That comes from inking paper.