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They said my words would bear fruits
Sour or sweet
Scented by the ink
I would dip my pen in.
That only I could chose
If I would dust my pages
With venom or cure.
But what words do I have?
The blank desert stares back at me.

Sure, fragments jostle in my mind.
But they are full of the absurd
Fuelled by devouring whims
And untamed reveries.
My mind’s crop’s fertile
But my paper stays sterile.

I give birth to no message.
I dwell in the chaos,
Just a senseless bard,
An agitator
Of verses and rhymes.
I summon
Will-o’-the-wisps
And wild spirits.
For futile dances
And aimless deeds.
I bear no wisdom,
Write no missive to the world.
So what words to I have?

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©Kémy