deepundergroundpoetry.com
"The Editor"
He sits at the crooked desk
Writing in a monotonous sort of way
Knowing what to approve and what to deny
Literature from hundreds piled on the corner
Shaking his head from the latest piece the man sighs deeply
A 'return to sender' stamped on a nearby folder
'Rejected once more' He thinks to himself
Tossing the manilla aside to the door.
A shaking hand reaches for a mug of coffee
Black in it's nature and bitter as winter
Arthritis acting up again and pain coursing through bones
Grasping the mug and bringing it to his parched lips
Downs the substance as though it would bring him to life.
With a dreary sigh he leans back
Examining the cracked and dry ceiling with minor interest
Able to relate himself to even that of the simplest things
A dry and withered surface with nothing special underneath
Just hanging around like any other day
Every other day.
There was nothing in this life for him
Only the constant sound of papers rustling
The smell of ink permeating the air
Thee small 'scritch, scritch' of the pen against sheets
Every single day of his godforsaken life.
'There is nothing more horrible than reliving yesterday.'
Published 5th Jan 2012
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The author encourages honest critique.
5th Jan 2012 5:17am
This is the main character for a book I'm writing. Feedback would be most appreciated, :)
5th Jan 2012 9:05am
is a good character to flesh upon. Oh wow Chandler. I hope you write it ...do please! You are a talented writer!
5th Jan 2012 9:48am
Always a pleasure to gaze upon your thoughts as a writer. So intact with what you are... Beautiful; no pen nor pencil should never deny your hand, and paper your thoughts.
5th Jan 2012 3:07pm
The smell of ink permeating the air
Thee small 'scritch, scritch' of the pen against sheets
Every single day of his godforsaken life.
I feel like there is something off/missing from these lines-- maybe rearranging them or expounding further before you say 'There is nothing more horrible than reliving yesterday.'??
Thee small 'scritch, scritch' of the pen against sheets
Every single day of his godforsaken life.
I feel like there is something off/missing from these lines-- maybe rearranging them or expounding further before you say 'There is nothing more horrible than reliving yesterday.'??
