Monday Muse

A Writer's Torment

The quill bites chaste vein,

my quintessence leaks upon the page,

and I've let drink more than is sane,

but words such as these will know no cage.

So, gentle reader, I implore,

tread lightly within my hallowed halls,

you are but a guest at my door,

heeded to that cry which of beauty calls.

Please take kindly to my tender words,

I have bled them upon these simple leaves,

below an uncaring sun and that may be absurd,

but without release my soul grieves.

Conduit, I write words that meaning yearn,

for otherwise I would but burn.