To be

A poem about poetry.

Across great plains he glade, astride a gleaming stallion,
in thunderous, noisome gallop.
Past the denizens of the night he rode,
In the amber light of a foreign moon.

Unseen were the congress of vermin,
They wore the night well.
Though he did not see,
He followed them with his eyes.
He plotted their turns,
He anticipated their flits.
The stars flickered on his whim;
The wind blew upon his command.
The world bit at his heels, awaiting orders from a fragile god,

but orders never came, 

and so the world fell still.

In the darkened nook,
Quill hastened from ink,
Parchment thirsted for it,
but remained unquenched.

A world stops when he sleeps.

Reviews

[Judy Basmaji]

I'm quite surprised this hasn't had any reviews yet, it's amazing! I would expect every member of this website to connect or identify with it in some way, seeing as it is a poem about writers, and an exceptionally excellent one at that. And the truth of it is striking as well. My favorite lines: "In the darkened nook, Quill hastened from ink, Parchment thirsted for it, but remain unquenched." The imagery is very accurate, the personification of quill and parchment draws wonderful virtual images, and the language is very impressive :)

[C]

Why thank you! That means do much, you've flattered me terribly.