Dark muse

There lies the tip,
dark and feathered--
morose and gangrened,
just below your Hell-carved tongue.

Its sinews are draped
with blackened flames
that burn and curl around
your prickled nerves.

Its charred roots coil
around your blistered heart,
tightening your breath
into steam--into speech

for this is the sharp quill of night
and ink the blood of dreams in flight.

Reviews

[An owl on the moon]

I can never go wrong opening one of your poems... you always strike so deep into the heart and soul... And here is the whisper we have all heard in the night.. the flush of inspiration that seems maddening... a music so darkly played.. so unforgettable...

[Boy of the red]

amazing imagery. perfect for dark haunting writing. great job

[eglantine]

thank ya much