Ode to Writing


14

I bring to the table
That which arrests the sun
I am a writer, to raise a finger
To my weary mortal lips

What I speak has been spoken before
What I say, will never
Be said again – I am
The vowel attempting

To pronounce, metaphors unknown
On the table’s wilderness
The writer pretends
Enough failed ascension

For a lifetime to know
My pen has tipped over the page
Spilt the ink in a trickle
Of heart to the goose quill

That which once said:
Can never be quite said again
Representing a moment
Unique in the history of art

I bring to the table
That which the light can attest
I am a writer, to raise an eyebrow
To the stars sunk in the air
That hang low across the sea.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/Writing-49291934