Despair unrequited asked of me;
*where do proverbs, poems...
such wisdom's go to die?*
do they expire with the ink of thought
penning themselves out of imagination?
or simply tire of expectation?
tell me
&
i would scourge
that unenlightened grave-site,
guillotine its immoral keeper,
&
decapitate him upon
a writer’s block!
show me
&
i will breach earths bowels
wrenching words from darkness' depths
with the light verse of celebration
&
a calligrapher’s paragraph of praise.
only then should i rest in piece
from wordy passion
scribed with its, novel pleasures
&
when spent,
upon my epitaph do write;
*'she was consumed,
birthing words to life'*
© Qwey.ku