The Pen that Hurts

The pen that hurts writes in vast cruelties, it is not sane.
It contemplates no soul unless, of course, it is his own.
Poor lonely soul, it roams the page in misery, alone.​

It draws its spirit from precious blood, inflicts on others
- his friends, his lovers and without mercy, his very brothers-
gratuitous wounds, outrageous bile and all the pain.​

Eager, the hand assists, the mastermind attempts
to hide disingenuously behind more than one face. ​

¿Does he not know the heart is one? ​

It beats one beat, always so true and in this case,
it writes eternally in that intolerable contempt,
it writes in red, in black a grand and dark disdain.​

Sadly for him, a verse in blood elicits pain
and for this reason escapes oblivious minds,
vanishing into its darkness in a fine grind,
of it, today, not a remainder, not a small trace.​

Poor soul, his efforts, his writing, is all in vain.
He’ll be forgotten, buried in his own strain
[SIZE=4]of finding infinite ways to hurt and mangle or [/SIZE]
[FONT=Centaur][SIZE=4]kill the joy, the memory, suppress the thoughts[/SIZE]
[FONT=Centaur][SIZE=4]of having once, amidst the trance of love, entangled.[/SIZE][/FONT][/FONT]​

[FONT=Centaur]
[SIZE=4] [/SIZE]
[CENTER][FONT=Centaur][SIZE=4]Poor soul, now without hope, writes, but wrought[/SIZE]
[FONT=Centaur][SIZE=4]in desperation to forget he prayed and waited [/SIZE]
[FONT=Centaur][SIZE=4]her coveted return, knowing it an empty train.[/SIZE][/FONT][/FONT][/FONT][/CENTER][FONT=Centaur][FONT=Centaur][FONT=Centaur][/font][/font][/font][/font]

 

All hope is strength.
You have a certainty that our tenacity will be sufficient to reach any destination.

Thanks for sharing your conversations. Lluvia de abril.

Regards.

 

Thank you. How flattering to have your comments. I will try to never make my destination hurting someone with my pen and hope that my tenacity runs
out before I do so.

Enormous Hugs.