Poet's Darkest Hour

October 14, 2011
Snow falling fast
The night wind
Tainted black with
The lingering darkness

A house just as dark
Harboring a genius mind
Just as black as the wind
Contemplation its game

An empty page awaits
Stain it with the ink
But this genius mind
Speaks no words

The desperate poet begs
Internally dying to forge
Vernacular into beauty
All efforts in vain

Perhaps it is the night
Black like the poet's soul
That drives the muses away
Or something more sinister

This poet is plagued
Emotions hard to decipher
Heart spread too thin
Mind unable to function

A candle burned away
Still no words written
For no muse can battle
The carnage of raging emotions

Let this poet rest in peace
For when the sun rises
The poet, like their idea
Will have died with the night

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