Immured in a darkling dungeon, you see the sun setting into night beyond the windowsill, which is sealed by a rusting gridiron. Clinging to the flaking bars, you bruise your knuckles as you strike the iron, desperate to capture a single ray, a single photon of light. A great hook of hot steel wraps around […]
I sit before my oaken tableAs oft as I am ableWith pen in hand and paperMy words, never stringing.I try to be a shaper,A song-maker, singing,But inspiration lacks;My purpose comes to naught.I turn to trace my tracks,But I have none begot.Before my oaken table, I sit,Not writing once, not one bit.To me, this is a […]