Exhausted Quill
Walking the road of life, I kick up the dust
of past lives and watch as they flash before
me in wonder pausing to take a deep breath
with an exhausted soul.
I’ve seen the dark side and witnessed the
hardened hearts of many, who with delight
tore away the veins swelling with pride
and malice, stripping the venom from
within as I wept like a child lost in a
mother’s womb.
Why do I write, and why do I arrest
and hesitate to go on and keep up the
pace like others who I envy and read
as they pour their verse and rhymes
over white and taste the ink left
smudged on every page they turn?
Oh how my heart aches and quickens
with remorse as the shadows come
forth to haunt me and keep me at
bay, and take my words I want so
much to share with kindred spirits.
My demons laugh and frolic in
ghostly figures, shedding a cold and
shivering feeling over my skin as
I attempt to break free from them,
to sit at desk and catch the dimming
light of my last candle light flicker
beckoning me to come and scribe
once more and write like it was
my last.
Screaming and tearing at my garment
of life’s rags that wrapped around a
history so torn and mixed with feelings
of being lost I the poet laughed in
disdain for the hand dealt me and the
devil simply grinned and whispered
time is short so bleed and let the
wounds you bare be living proof of
why you are who you are a lost time
traveler moving through the universe
into another plane of long ago.
So my wasted life of turmoil and
strife leaves blemishes on my tortured
soul as I try my best to pull myself
from stress and depression of life’s
everyday offerings as I talk to my
muse I ask the question why should
I go on why should I write why
should I care.
The curtain unfolds and there he
stands in costume of royalty plumage
feathered and like the Marquis de Sade
he simply smirks at me and says
BECAUSE just because and vanishes
as quickly as he appeared.
I bow my head and sit bewildered,
yet fulfilled with vigor and amused
by the encouraging words, I sip my
red and dip my quill into the bowl
of blood poured from my razored
veins and write my last words good
bye my friends, I go to rest among
the poets from the past.
© Copyright by Vincent Moore. All rights reserved
He was born and raised in Montreal Canada among the Irish, Brits, Italians and French. Point St Charles (commonly called The Point) was the Hell’s kitchen of Montreal. He played, cried, laughed and fought on the street corners, survival was an instinct and watching each others back important. Vincent left home at 17 to find his way in the world, failure and success he had plenty of. He studied the Arts and loved to draw and paint. Took acting lessons and envied those on the stage under the bright lights and hoped to some day become an actor, writer, playwright or painter. Vincent welcomes you to his world of mystery, fantasy and solitude. You can find a few of his writings in one of 3 books he's published.In Absinthia- In Melancholia and In Passionata.
- My Muse-My Shadow - June 15, 2019
- Lit Up Skies - April 4, 2019
- Fair Thee Well - April 3, 2019
The greater the pain, the suffering, the more words can spill in its name, and no matter the torment, we are writers, destined to bleed upon each page, for whatever reasons. I truly understand my kindred spirit, but as I see it, just another bloom of words waiting to be plucked from eternity’s womb. Write on, regardless, spill your soul and let words be your soul to speak. Beautifully written Vincent, as always, and Poe is undoubtedly one of my all time favorites too. We relate. Take care, my friend.
Thank you Tony for you kindest of words. Indeed spilling one’s soul upon a page is no easy task, yet the relief one feels afterwards is rewarding. I know you can relate and I respect you for that. We are kindred spirits with the pen no doubt, each in our own world of soulful renderings. Cheers
Loved this Vincent. We as writers write not for those that read the words, but for ourselves – it is what brings us alive and make us live the emotional roller-coaster of life.
Indeed Kurt, an emotional roller-coaster life, I’ve ridden it most of my life. The calm feels wonderful when we find it. Writing does bring us alive and able to move others with our soulful renderings, something every poet and writer hopes to achieve. I do my best by letting my Muse have it’s way with my heart and soul. Thank you for enjoying this piece, it moved me one evening to pen.
I have to agree with Kurt and Tony here. We dont write words for others to justify. We definitely relate. Not all can understand the depths but to catch a glimpse into a writer’s soul is a ride itself. Like Tony said, keep bleeding and writing, we enjoy the crap out of it. Great work my friend.
Ha Ha Paul, enjoying the crap out of my work is a compliment indeed. I do my best to render work that will be acceptable here for my fellow poets and writers to enjoy or simply sigh as yet another piece is scribed from this poets pen and soul. Thank you for your comment, much appreciated.