Posted by: Ron DuBour | June 22, 2015

Writers Death~by Norman Wilson



Writers Death

Do not mock me for I am the holder of thy own words
That I share only upon the parchment penned in black ink
Forever kept in secret from the horrors of what waits within
For the devil has cast his thorns of worst upon my wind

So die once upon death’s wish
Where words splash in unseen night
Under the halo of a golden kiss
That courses a yarn of blackness on what I write

Afoul from follies of rubes that swills from drunkard’s thirst
Where Angels do not glow from streets so fetid in stench
As I see thy own travails upon choices not met upon death
For sorrow is so pointed as pigswill spills from evils breath

Ravens now caw upon blacken gates
Where angels fear to tread and wait

In followings of embers that burns from thy own heart
Upon the masquerade of bareness from mind’s own worth
For evil rises on brimstone from within deepest thoughts
As ravens feast again on bone and flesh that rot in worst

Now shades of grey fall prey to my agony
As my pen bleeds upon slashed sleeves that read my end
Where words once dripped from a soul so grievous
I die with no words left to offend

First Edit

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