| General Poetry
posted October 15, 2014 |
Long past
I've paid my hand upon the sword
Yet my pen it knows no end
Craft in still the brush seeks
A dark and dirty quill
Black the ink upon the page
Master's touch
Yet the pen fights with rage
Embers burn bright in cabin light
As lanterns for a stage
Wisp and willow bend
Form again a sage
With feathers for the blend
Poet fiend and friend
He knows not
For who the bell tolls
Just the parchment
Keeping out
The freezing cold
Two white cats upon my lap
Allow the pen to move
While the love of my life
Dies from the cold
So critic feel the blade
As the pen is mighty
We will plant you
In Poe's rage
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Walter L. Jones
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Walter L. Jones
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