Pen and Paper

been a twisted road

long dark fruitful? 

the question lies not in the path behind

but in what awaits ahead 

seated atop mountains of ideals

and rivers of thoughts 

not one seems to appeal

but one seeks that which interests

makes the deaf comment about bars in a symphony

or the blind critic aesthetics in a painting 

and seemingly like a choir of mutes

i aspire to write beatiful pieces

but these long strokes leave the trail tainted 

oozing black blood an epithany of angels tears in its wake 

twisting the road even more leading towards the unknown 

leading nowhere but finding a place somewhere

and that place being of such worthlessness

like a beach where the breeze has yet to grace 

or a garden that has not yet felt the kiss of the rays of the sun

hoping to bloom a rose of thought out of the tip of this black river of blood

but realising indeed that hope is never as it seems 

always rising and falling hiding and seeking in turn

for that ray , that epitome of guidance 

that cure for what seems like a disease of immorality

which seems to befall on the one seated on mountains of ideas 

and rivers of thoughts

but lacking the one means to initiate the sequence

the sequence of melody now known as poetry

lacking the necessities of Pen and Paper