Many empty things I see
Bathe in their enormity
Like wounded words falling on a helpless page
Maker, I, composer, writer
Lover, friend, and sometime fighter
Parchment knows not how to staunch expressive rage
Open, heart; pour as never
Have before, twice as clever
All fluid emotion moves to solid state
Yet not love nor hate nor yen
Speaks as earnest from the pen--
Poor substitute for love; that’s a wordsmith’s fate.
---This was my first attempt at an unedited poem for the "Open-Mic" subforum at Poetsanctuary. It took about 5 minutes start to finish, and I thought I'd share.