For Him

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You are a poem I could
never write.

My idle pen sits atop
a blank page;

I am a dry inkwell.

  • COMMENTS
1 Comments
KOLKOREKOLKOREalmost 16 years ago
Those melancholic youth...

Oh snotty readers! can't you see the melancholic irony hovering upon this poem? Tssst... either she has just finished her last drops of ink, yet she still was a capable poet while it lasted... or as manifested by the very existence of the poem AND its internal contradiction, she demonstrates her talent in writing a love song, if clearly plagued by self doubt...so typical to love stricken young types...

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