The Poisoned Pen


I dipped the pen in poison ink.
Scratched your name across the tattered page.
Like acid eating metal,
it burned a hole straight through,
and a wicked stench remained.

Dark and twisted,
the vellum curled back in upon itself,
to hide what was no longer there.
If I could, I’d patch it back,
and make it new again.

Yet that giant hole does beckon.
Broken pieces scatter to the winds.
The poisoned pen lies discarded.
The corrosive ink eats through the floor,
erasing all traces of what once was there.


© Jan. 24, 2012 L.E.M.