Dangling Threads

The pen was stuck
and the ink congealed.
Blood was entangled
in the cobweb of apprehensions.

Paper was a rough
barren landscape,
unpliable by the ideas,
impenetrable by the seducing pen.

Within a cocoon, they reside,
of flesh and blood.
Inside of me
and independent of me.

However hard might I try,
no dangling threads can I find,
to unravel the life
and to disentangle the poetry.

Comments

back-seat-window said…
Seems like the words are mocking you and your pen is the partner in this crime. :)
May 8, 2013 at 7:28 AM
Morpheus said…
ya they are...thanks for reading it...
May 9, 2013 at 10:10 PM
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