I used to wield a pen like a deadly weapon, and with it
writing to vent anger and resentment
of pain on a piece of paper.
Fors'Egli
me punished for the ardor of my silent voice.
I can not explain otherwise
because the heart has exhausted all the words!
Melancholy, once
made me invincible. His company
devastating
filled the void of magic;
seized it with a
pen to transform it into thoughts
and not risk losing it ...
Now I know the immense loneliness.
E 'mute silence.
Clear the air where I left my complaint
free.
hands, cold, swinging in the air, clutching a weapon
powerless.
mouth, dry,
opens without a sound. I lived through
only fragments of a soul
printed in black and white over time. Now we have only
nothing more bleak.
The Muse does not speak.
My World is off.
(c) Eleanor Grana, 2009
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