Rows of words standing end to end,
Hold hands across the page.
Captured, and with passion penned,
My emotions, they engage.
Awakening moments of the past,
Words twirl their taunting dance,
And mock the sanity gained at last
With visions of romance.
And in their dance, they prick me deep,
They draw from me my breath.
They lose the passion they can't keep
To broken shards of death.
And in my pain, I vow to stay
From words that taunt and tease,
So for awhile, I turn away
From writings such as these.
Yet, I the bearer of the muse
And master of the pen
Though careful of the words I choose,
Do bruise myself again.
A seasoned author with room to grow
11/17/2005 12:00:00 AM
in my book Under Construction