Pearls of silver ache down her cheeks,
Delicate tendrils of love held her heart,
A maiden with the eyes of a wild fawn,
Sat on the edge of her longing, reminiscing.
She met him by the vast fields of words,
Labouring under the sun and the moon,
Calling the stars to plough his dreams,
Sowing the seeds of letters drenched in ink.
He neared where she stood by the well,
Calling her his solace in his lonely life,
Handing her a pail to fetch ink for him,
Touching her with his ink-stained fingers.
The fawn eyed maiden sang her story,
While fetching the ink from the well,
She watched him enjoy and shake his head,
Humming with her heart-melting voice.
Smitten and sweetened by his love,
She detested the walk that distanced him,
In her hurry and flurry, she spilt the ink,
On her pristine dove white frilly gown.
She nosed his scent in the navy blue ink,
And closed her eyes; falling into the well,
Swathed in his ink and looking complete,
She went to him, becoming his ink well.
He pricked and poked her with his nib,
Sucking his ink back from her body,
She withered and stumbled as he sowed,
His field swelled with an enviable harvest.
He drained his ink, leaving her white,
But saw her stark red blood rife with life,
She stood humble as he pulled her blood,
A richer shade with life than his dye ink.
The fawn eyed maiden shivered from cold,
He left her shaking on the harvested land,
Tying up his yield with a cardboard spine,
To sell and earn a name for his thoughts.
She was dead by the time he returned,
With riches and people to his lonely land,
He dug her a grave with his Midas words,
Engraved a tombstone in her name.
The writer's muse.
★★★★★★★★★★★
Long time no visit here. 😁
I have no idea how I wrote this though.
🙊🙉🙈.
Anything you want to share ????