Poisoned Pen

What would I have to lament
Had the days been better spent?

The love who wrenched from my
Tightened fist that first passionate tryst,
Is locked within the stark pages
Of the book I didn't have the time to write.

I, in possession of a survivalist's soul,
Push my pen to perserve the order of law,
A conventional means to pay the rent,
Yet at months end, when the money's spent,
I'm too tired to recover from it all.

So little time before the yellows and greys
Blow their irony across my nights,
Their icy breath extinguishing
My candlelight before I get the chance
To dip my pen for the love of sentiment.

© November 2006, Jennifer D. Lac Kamp