Here I sit, pen in hand a mighty sword, unsheathed. Ready to plunge its tip into the blank pages of this book. A lifeless martyr ready to spill its blood in delivering a profound message. It will fight wars on paper readily pour out its life out at its masters will. Its meets an ignorant page and leaves it a scholar. It transforms shapeless thoughts into vivid language. It halts at memories of old, days of love, joy, surprise, anger, frustration, sadness, fear and solitude. It wonders of days yet to pass, will it write anymore. For the present time, it is content laying in-between the pages of this book.
Jul 26, 2012
Jul 26, 2012 at 11:10 PM UTC
Here I sit, pen in hand a mighty sword, unsheathed. Ready to plunge its tip into the blank pages of this book. A lifeless martyr ready to spill its blood in delivering a profound message. It will fight wars on paper readily pour out its life out at its masters will. Its meets an ignorant page and leaves it a scholar. It transforms shapeless thoughts into vivid language. It halts at memories of old, days of love, joy, surprise, anger, frustration, sadness, fear and solitude. It wonders of days yet to pass, will it write anymore. For the present time, it is content laying in-between the pages of this book.