The Poet's Pen

The poet’s pen

Is filled with blood

And stars

And flowers and tears

It spills

According to the mood

Of Muse

Or tilted spheres

The poet’s pen

Is like a knife

Or scalpel

Ruthless; keen

It slices through the outer flesh

To hearts

And scars

And dreams

The poet’s pen

Can be a curse

Or a divine-breathed quill

It shapes dull letters

Into sobs,

And aches

And chills

And thrills

The poet’s pen

Is filled with lust

For all unwritten things

It tears man’s longing

From the dust

It wails

It sighs

It sings

The poet’s pen

Is filled with blood

The tears of heart and soul

And oh, the passion

Of its flood

When it

Loses

Control

© Janet Martin