Open Book

Ink stained fingers tremble
as if they dare to touch the
paper where it curls at edge,

Paper already marked with
feeling and hurt and emotion
as my pen bursts out lust,

But still so much more.
Everything is written in the verse
that hangs from these curves,

Contents of a life that has been,
A life that will continue to be,
Changing like the gaps on the page.

Ink stained fingers tremble
as if they dare to touch the
paper where it curls at edge,

Where poetry longs to love.

open book

Advertisements

So, what do you think?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s