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Parchment

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Parched be sour pallets
That condemn the thirst
And--paralyzed, the hands
That squelch

To quell--
How different from to choke?
And to hush, as to
Behead

Pointing finger guiding heart
May just as well wring dry
To extract juices from the brain,
To such veins free of milk

And of the pen-- or dripping brush
He who snaps sha'n't plead!
Journal vacant--
Journal soiled, with
misoloquy-- and swears




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Thesilentraven This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Aug. 22, 2011 at 8:48 pm:
How well the title matches the poem! No, it is not matching, it is capturing the essence of the piece in a single word, or two. The poem had the crisp and smooth feel of, indeed, a scroll of parchment; and I could easily imagine it crinkling in the fire. Again, this eager, old Raven finds himself loving the clever precision of your writing. The kind of precision that makes the reader nod his head fervently, thinking "ah yes, just what my heart was trying to say." The last stanza gave me the most... (more »)
 
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