The past has passed me
but this pen is still nasty.
mangling nouns and verbs
turning letters to words.
words to sentences, paragraphs, and pages.
Twisting the language, smashing those blue line cages.
Pegging the needle on my inner soul's gauges.
Tearing down compound words with imaginative adjectives.
Creating complexed rhyme schemes in my dreams.
Decipher them at sunrise, the visions from my minds eye.
Dot the i's, cross the t's, punctuation imagination.
Ink to paper, blood to canvas, information encrypted in formation.
Handing down dramatic scripts from the attic
to put dreamscapes in brainwaves to all that need to have it.
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