The writer at half past five

Every word's dipped in blood Marinated in sweat, seasoned with doubt I draped a comma in a commemorative flag When the clock chimed half past four You enshrine a semicolon Canonize a verb Beatify some errant phrase When the seconds stretch like rubber bands Then snap, boomerang and ricochet Hurling you back on the blank page Every sentence is etched in acid We chisel them from the marrow of our bones Every stanza's carved in some corner of the heart Awaiting a nod, a smile, an unsolicited embrace We fling wide our arms and grasp at air Hunger and thirst for living flesh Starved on a diet of prepositions We lust after the key in the lock, the familiar face in the door frame.

Share this story:

We want to hear, did we miss an angle we should have covered? Should we come back to this topic? Or just give us a rating for this story. We want to hear from you.

Loading...

Loading...

Loading...

Save for later

Save
Cancel

Saved ( of items)

This item has been saved to read later from any device.
Access saved items through your user name at the top of the page.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You reached the limit of 20 saved items.
Please visit following link to manage you saved items.

View Saved Items

OK

Failed to save

You have already saved this item.

View Saved Items

OK