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February 19, 2024


By Mel Trent


ink stains my hands like blood
I stand back and admire
the marks I've left on the page
but as I watch the ink dry
I find comprehension has gone
I can no longer read my own words

no sooner than my eyes dry
I run to press my face to the page
what I once could admire
now sinks a chill into my blood
once like precious gems, these words
now like rain drops are gone

taunted by the blank page
until mind and logic are gone
what spills from tongue and blood
are no longer fluid words
but corpses, desiccated and dry
they are nothing to admire

I was my words
flesh and blood
of ink never dry
left on every page
for all to admire
and now gone

where have they gone?
my fragile words
too shy to admire
themselves, blush dark as blood
mouth silent and dry
hell is a blank page

I turn every page
looking for something to admire
I can't turn these symbols into words
the conceit of art is gone
drained of blood
and dry

on every page
I splash my words
ink is my blood

Article © Mel Trent. All rights reserved.
Published on 2010-11-08
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