I have coaxed from my soul’s heart
A few more drops of blood
Dripped as words upon
The sheet of paper before me
And they have disappeared.

The blank page has shed my scratches
Like raindrops on oil
They fall carelessly
Off every edge
Into oblivion.

My pen seems now a ghost
Unable to produce
Evidence of thought
Wordy wisps, like smoke
In the slightest breeze.

The quill’s trail vanishes instantly
Perhaps just disappearing ink
Waiting for an unknown flame
To warm the page
Revealing all.

By James Geehring