29 July 2012
The early pages, coloured,
In red and blue and green,
A lot of broken crayons,
With some pencil in between,
A little on, a lot of yellow,
Golden marks in ink,
With spots of paint across the edge,
And gel pens forming links,
A while on and words of pink,
I don't know why, just helped me think,
Sharp pencil lines mark illustrations,
Forming red on my creations,
Soon enough, I'm sketching blue,
Some scruffy letters 'cross page flew,
A scribbled sentence, here and there,
Elaborating when and where,
And then, blunt markings,
Etched in grey,
Some red ink crosses,
Block the way,
Next up, there's pencils,
Everywhere,
With run-on scrawlings,
Dark and fair,
Some thick blue ink,
And rambled feelings,
Naive thoughts,
Ridiculed dealings,
Scratchy ink,
In green and red,
Marked noting pads,
To page from head,
A lot of crossings,
Teared up page,
I'd started righting,
For a wage,
And then I fell,
Damp yellow bindings,
Burning all,
My latest findings,
I stopped, then,
For a year or two,
I stopped my works,
Wrote nothing new,
But, now I'm back,
With dark, black pen,
I'll never ever,
Stop again,
I write dark words,
And weave dark tales,
Tomes of night,
I'm not for sale,
Read my words,
If they don't bore,
I can assure,
There's countless more.
My Life In Words • Opuss № I