I took quill to parchment with all the grace
of a schizophrenic
Seeking to drain my soul onto the barren
wastelands of the sheets
Praying that those same wastelands would
prove undaunted by the irascible tempest
fountaining from said soul…..
The frightening rage – hoping,
that the capillaries on the pages have thick
enough walls to withstand the onslaught of
these would-be prisoners
In the end only this gives comfort, doubtless it
has for many who have travelled these lands –
that on the horizon, approaches hope.