My creative self

I haven't written anything in a while... still abit rusty I'm afraid but I think thistribute to my fleeting inspiration...of sorts... should do

My creative self

I felt your knock,
at my door.
Voiced by the wind
through the floorboards

In the rain it came
frozen falls
over the pallid sea
repeated oft

'Erie" I called it,'
back to sleep
but the fire in my room
to hot to breathe

My feet touch the floor
embrace ice
dust gathered scatters
clean felt nice

Up two halls, down stair
chance given
to go back to bed, but
mad, knock driven

grasp handled ornate
opend slow
to myself standing out side
hand up to snow

The skin around your eyes
dark, as bruised
your hands stained with ink
work on something new?

"Come in," I would say
"Care for fruit?"
then wonder why you'd
take of your shoes.

We sit at the table, alone
Strewn with leaves
of clean pressed paper, we
begin to write these

I should have some art for you soon, freshly scanned...


omahahahahaha!!!


-The Revig.