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.

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Daily Prompt: I Believe