Unused Swords Rust

Published by Iceberg Tales.

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Unused swords rust

Unused swords rust
like your feather quill,
dipped in dry ink,
that scars the paper;

leaving marks that do not last,
merely dent the page,
when words were meant
to cut through.

You ask for the world,
but you don’t have to.
Your words belong on the altar –

you kneel, exhausted,
in the empty room; wrinkled
pages on the scratched
wooden table…

Pressure weighs you down
like the sky upon the titan.
You ask the silence inside
what you were meant to do…

… but the silence answered
long ago, between the lines
that you wrote down.

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