The scratch of my pen as it scribbles the page
Ink stains on my fingers, my desk and my jeans
Cramps in my fingers that make me feel aged
And letters that combine, building up scenes
You can probably guess what this all means
As the stories build up and grow into shape
I start on real paper instead of machines
Losing myself to a world, which I cannot escape
Dear college-ruled paper and letters I make,
Thank you for the pleasure, in me, you awake.
This poem is part of the WordPress “Writing 201” Blogging U.
(Day 10) Today’s topic, form and device are: Pleasure, Sonnet and Apostrophe