High-Strung Poets

You wrote yourself in camouflage
To see your eyes spelled out just right and you
Fired your last cannon ball-point pen
Across your parchment battlefield
So toiled in rhyme and meter and
Your war of words began to meet its Hell today
Hold your words against the sun
It’s like high-strung poets on a porcelain string
Tied to one another, always searching for something
You’ll throw your weapons down again
And see the ink spilled through the page and you’ll
Surrender your lasts thoughts to the machine again
Hold your words against the sun
It’s like high-strung poets on a porcelain string
Tied to one another, always searching for something
Let the sun disguise the mystery
Of words describing misery
Face reflecting light beneath the
Thoughts I thought I’d never