"The Poet"

Words
the last pleasure of the poet
in a cascade of feeling they rush.
pen to paper
heart to mouth
whisper you secrets
tell me your lies.
Blue on white,
pour yourself out.

Words
truth of our hearts
spilling over the brim they gush
paper to pen
as heart is to mouth
whispering lies
telling your secrets.
 blue on white
you may read my heart.

Words
the last weapon of the poet
twisting the blade in his hand they plunge
blue is red
ink turns into blood
lost on the pages
in the maze between lines
and with a last drop of ink,
the pen runs dry.