The Ink Went Silent

i used to write with singing words
they stirred beneath my skin
a ghost that wrapped around my quill
that swore it lived within

It led me down a narrow path
whispered sharp with tone
but now the loom is stiff and bare
the thread has come undone

no more mornings ripe with verse
no more evening tunes
the meter stumbles like a clock
that chokes upon the moon

so let the Ink dry in the well
let silence swell and spread
the words have fled like starving wolves
and left me here for dead