Resting restlessly within the dark of its sheath,
my poetic knife feels expressionless.
When so, it wants to be drawn
and plundered into the white of the page.
Then it wants to cut through the emptiness
and carve out beautiful metaphors.
The blade will glint in the light of an idea
and will be drenched in the ink of words.







Sinister. The metaphors cut like a sharp ass knife. Nice work!
Haha like your apt feedback! Hahaha
Brilliant