A poem about writing—”Black is the color of ink in my veins. . . .”
A poem about conquering depression with the written word, and the subsequent cycle when dealing with rejection during the publication process
I took the standard form for most rejection letters I’ve received, and I turned it into a positive poem to celebrate writers.
Three leagues North as the raven flies, messenger of the gods. In barren white, the call sounds. One for sorrow, two for mirth.
when their wings are broken as do butterflies before they die. Moon drives her brother down down down as ink washes over the blood….
Halfway there. The stars upside down above the shore, also screaming in silence. Such need. Rowing, rowing, still halfway there.