deepundergroundpoetry.com
A Writer's Apple
I write on the blank pages
By light of a candle in a skull
Everything is black and white
Life is starting to look dull.
I stare at my messy words
My quill in my hand
I think about my life and work
A hollow soul in a hollow land.
I trace my fingers over the ink
I breathe deep and sigh and moan
Thinking of how my world is
My life and soul, empty, alone.
Then I see an apple
Shiny, bright and gleaming red
I stare at the colour in wonder
I no longer feel so dead.
The apple tumbles off the edge
I reach out to stop its fall
I gaze at this pretty thing
In my world of black and white
Maybe there's hope after all.
By light of a candle in a skull
Everything is black and white
Life is starting to look dull.
I stare at my messy words
My quill in my hand
I think about my life and work
A hollow soul in a hollow land.
I trace my fingers over the ink
I breathe deep and sigh and moan
Thinking of how my world is
My life and soul, empty, alone.
Then I see an apple
Shiny, bright and gleaming red
I stare at the colour in wonder
I no longer feel so dead.
The apple tumbles off the edge
I reach out to stop its fall
I gaze at this pretty thing
In my world of black and white
Maybe there's hope after all.
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