When I write I hold the knife, and deep within I think
that with each poem that I write I spill more blood than ink
Because with each word that I know, that dares to grace the page,
my deepest thoughts, I delve into, and pour the blood away.
Much like the blackened ink that coats the tips of quills
Pages soak up blood drawn words like motion picture stills
And every stanza, every verse, blood letters on the sheet
From eternities of blinding pain, eternities words keep.
Within every poet, every artist, every piece
Ink flows where the blood once ran and never will it cease
and with every poem that I write, the artists cruel demand
a piece of me is drained away, and bled by my own hand.
So when I write I hold the knife, and deep within I think
that with each poem that I write, I spill more blood than ink.
©2015 Alex Hicks
Into Dawn 