HOME | DD

Description
The writer lifts the broken pen
Doomed to fail him ever more
And sheds a tear for fallen friend
In the quiet stillness off the moore
“Who am I to question fate?” the question
Rings so clear, and all that greets
Him in return is the echo of his suggestion
So set aside your darker woes,
The writer told himself, and wrote
Upon the pristine sheet, with
Crimson blood instead of ink, his morbid, broken note.

Description
The writer lifts the broken pen
Doomed to fail him ever more
And sheds a tear for fallen friend
In the quiet stillness off the moore
“Who am I to question fate?” the question
Rings so clear, and all that greets
Him in return is the echo of his suggestion
So set aside your darker woes,
The writer told himself, and wrote
Upon the pristine sheet, with
Crimson blood instead of ink, his morbid, broken note.