Thy Dusty Pen
How long oh sombre sleep,since sketch, thy tip hath make?In dust, is sad a weep,that soon thy pen may wake.Hiatus from the ink,did hear a heart in sink.For lost, did words a voice,face silence of no choice.Thy stepped into a dream,from last oh written piece.To find a muffled scream,oppressive in obscene.With forward move of step,oh […]