Inkwell

Posted on January 19, 2016 | 6 Comments

Catching the morning sun through the dust
I cried from inside of my inkwell
Hoping for the day she would have some trust
Sliding down again cursing her hell

When your muse feels ignored and alone
She picks up the pen to help me out
Don’t be surprised when she won’t throw a bone
No matter how much you whine and shout

Finally I get out of my inkwell
Walking to my muse I start to sweat
Your tactics will never compel
And I guess I’ll always be in your debt

© 2016 Michael Yost 01/19

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 responses to “Inkwell”

  1. gregorystackpole | January 19, 2016 at 4:07 PM | Reply

    “I cried from inside of my inkwell” – this image is really marvelous, and the baser, selfish part of me wishes that I wrote it.

    Like

  2. booguloo | January 19, 2016 at 4:20 PM | Reply

    Thanks for the compliment, and the visit.

    Liked by 1 person

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