The Poet’s Lament


Within an inkwell’s heart interred:

The answer to my sorrow.

If only I should dare ask 

To have it for my own.


And yet, I have allowed each day

To bloom into its ‘morrow

Until the page grew overcast,

Unwilling to atone


For misspent truths

For depths unfound;

And in its blank reproach

My doleful muse is bound.


Daily Prompt: I Believe