Element

This piece is about the struggle of those who use the pen to get by, and the gatekeepers who steal most of the paper.

Thanks for reading.

Element

And then I heard it, whistling in water
Soaked from the ink that scribed the first charter
Sealed with the wax in the crate in the basement
In a state of surreal through card board and pavement
Hands stained black from the can that we sprayed with
Billows of smoke in the booth from the shameless
Pillows get soaked from the eyes of the nameless
Watering dreams as they long to be famous

Fate came with fine print and paper thin margins
Enacted by pawns and unscrupulous Sergeants
Resources spent on the peasants and varmints
Sharpening blades of the swords they do harm with
Shields made of glass reveal chests that are heartless
Shards in the yard from the arms who lunge farthest
Dead in the grass, red in the darkness
Winds blow the leaves from the trees when the bark splits

Desolate fields harvest ashes and rust
Credulous meals for the masses who lust
Petulance steals from chastity's bust
Decadent heels, immaculate husks

Back in the booth where words become verses
Stories are told from dire first persons
Cheques are left blank, the snake has no head
The ink tells the tales of the poet instead