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A Poet's Rifle (Free verse) by SupremeDreamer Blood dribbles from the quill,
the feather dyed sepia.
A poet's tears dampen the paper
as he flaps his wings
and sings his soul into the snow
of the artic blizzard.
His voice lights the way
for his mind to fly free.
His verses warm the fingers
that continue to move despite stiffness,
to worship words.
He was found dead, wearing a t-shirt
that said:
"You can take my pen, after you pry it
from my cold dead fingers."
Up the ladder:
Under a better bed wetter
Down the ladder:
By Now
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 5.1666665
Posted: August 22, 2003 11:49 PM PDT; Last modified: August 22, 2003 11:49 PM PDTWeighted score: 5.0448236 Overall Rank: 6989 Comments:
[n/a]
SupremeDreamer @ 204.31.163.145
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22-Aug-03/11:56 PM
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Reply
This is a remake of Deranged Sailor: Sea Sickness..
must you always begin your poems this way?
it's arresting
what the fuck are you mumbling about? eh? start them in WHAT WAY? aye? how do you propose i start them hrmm??? eh??
if your going to gripe, dont make some goddamn worthless comment like that without explaining your bullshit. ok?
you have a quill in the first line, a pen at the end- I think it would help to have "pen" in the first and last stanzas.
arctic has two c's in it. Could have a capital a for Arctic, but does not have to. Cute reworking of the sentiment "I'll give you my guns when you pry them from my cold, dead hands"- 307 view(s)
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