In the writer's eyes
Once lived a lone man
With his ink and pen in a lone world
Years of regret, now lurk in his eyes
A story that linger within his ruthless loot
Mute, but he had companions
His pen and paper, and a bleeding ink
And eyes that were denied to speak what it saw
It was in the writer's eyes that the ink bleed
Image generated using Gemini AI
His frail hands trail every line in details
His eyes a recorder of all it perceived
And the hands the tools for the eyes
A story from a dumb
While the world trade her vanity
In the writer's eyes were stories for the young
A burden that only the tears beared
A redemption for the ones that read
0.03713138 BEE
Hmmm!.
This is a kind of a lone poem about a frail old man. who derived his companionship and friendship from his pen and ink.
Amazing write up. Thanks for sharing.