Indie Scribe Magazine March 2014 | Page 43

I’ve waited three long nights

~aching to tell someone,

~pen poised to write.

But the paper remains blank.

Who will listen

In the fading light?

~”Taking sides old chum?”

Who will listen

When all has ended in a fight?

On the blood stained streets

That a poet greets

With clever words that mean little.

I bathed my wounds with spit,

Fell reeling with gritted teeth,

Ragged and naïve I’d slept here

With a drunken whore and thief,

When it all seemed right

I died a million dreams.

But now I must admit

After all, it seems

As a man with belief,

The devil preys on virgin fear

On these streets

At the dead of night.

I’ve waited three long nights

~aching to tell someone

~or to kill someone

~or to die somewhere.......

Alone in the fear of the poet’s pen

That writes of evil once again.

The Poet

I stopped to ponder,

Turned back and saw

That the poet and the devil were one,

Yet my life has only just begun.......