We are poets
Heroes
Of the abandoned words.
KnightsÂ
I’m shining armour
Riding a dying horse
Flies
In a room full of spiders
Caterpillars
That work an entire life
To be butterflies for a day
Dreamers
In a place where dreaming
Is considered fog
In front of a speeding car
We are writers
Bleeding words
On pages that are always empty
Writing
Until our blood becomes ink
And our fingers become pen.
Writing
Until the simple act
Of moving a pen
Becomes breathing.
-AnonymousÂ
Heroes
Of the abandoned words.
KnightsÂ
I’m shining armour
Riding a dying horse
Flies
In a room full of spiders
Caterpillars
That work an entire life
To be butterflies for a day
Dreamers
In a place where dreaming
Is considered fog
In front of a speeding car
We are writers
Bleeding words
On pages that are always empty
Writing
Until our blood becomes ink
And our fingers become pen.
Writing
Until the simple act
Of moving a pen
Becomes breathing.
-AnonymousÂ
