Ashes of a Dream

My fingers burn,
from the frozen grip
on the pen, as it dances
in my pale trembling hands,
as ice cold fear
and lingers
slowly through my veins

The black ink bleeds
onto the page
into patterns of shapes and lines,
resembling a language
that for years has been lost

The black ink drips
upon the white abyss,
navigating through the
and lacerations…
scars from previous attempts
to capture reality into verse form

This page becomes a battlefield,
berated from the sweat off my brow
and the tears from these eyes,
where the words are engraved
as if etched into stone

The tears fall faster
in a tempo to that of a carpet bombing,
with every stroke of the pen
the page withers away,
like a blade cutting through my words,
as if they held no meaning at all

I am left frozen
as the fear has reached
the very core of my soul

This page now filled with
black blood
and tears
lies in front of me
in tattered black pieces
resembling the ashes of a dream,
and all that I’m left with
is the familiar sick hope
that a phoenix may rise from them…

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