A POET WITH EMPTY WORDS

Lost my way writing words
on my way back to life
all alone with the One
so exhausted with none
I am so surprised
no suicide
I’m strapped in a chair
with a hanging light bulb sun
and the leather upon my wrists
so tight like honey bees
stinging all the dreams of
my life:  I’m just a poet
of silver dreams weeping
and half alive with an empty
gun so I use a pencil to
stab life with all my
empty words
A silver tongue that no one
loves so I write words to
awaken me from my dream
of lonely fields
silver dreams weeping
half alive with an
empty gun

::-::

About EPRobles

Writer, Artist. I like to paint abstract acrylic images onto canvas. I love to read everything, and I especially enjoy science, philosophy, and the arts. I'm new to the blog experience and I very much enjoy it! I hope to learn as much about all the features that WordPress offers and thank you -- my visitor -- for taking time to read my words. Peace and love... View all posts by EPRobles

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