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RasaPoems
What is ink, if not blood spilling? Splashed across the whiteness, staining, making marks so proud, proclaiming I was here, my voice is hiding; buried under crimson letter after letter, like a tea-r coursing down upon the paper, branded bright into forever. Yes, I know the pen will bleed me - Turn me inside out, a ghastly Sight displayed, but somehow lovely. Blacks and reds, I beg you, gently curl and wind along my pages - cut me deep into the ages.
0
Apr 2, 2021
Apr 2, 2021 at 11:53 AM UTC
Writer's Blood
What is ink, if not blood spilling? Splashed across the whiteness, staining, making marks so proud, proclaiming I was here, my voice is hiding; buried under crimson letter after letter, like a tea-r coursing down upon the paper, branded bright into forever. Yes, I know the pen will bleed me - Turn me inside out, a ghastly Sight displayed, but somehow lovely. Blacks and reds, I beg you, gently curl and wind along my pages - cut me deep into the ages.
Just a few thoughts on what it feels like to write sometimes. Critique is welcome! Rate the flow and rhythm 1-10 (1 being choppy, 10 being smooth) Is the language cohesive or is there too much going on? What do you see while reading the poem?
#blood#ink#writing
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Rasa
Apr 2, 2021
Apr 2, 2021 at 11:53 AM UTC
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