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George Lewis Avery

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Within My Heart Dwells A Poet
One Sequestered With The Night
Who Presses Quill To Paper
But Knows Not What To Write

He Wears A Veil Of Loneliness
In An Effort To Atone
For His Lack Of Motivation
With Pensiveness Alone

Should He Leave His Tidy Chamber
He'll Take A Melancholy Stroll
In Search Of Inspiration
As An Outlet For his Soul

He Has Not Climbed A Mountain
He Does Not Hear The Drums
Though A River Rushes Past Him
Whose Sparkling Water Hums

It Seems That Being Forsaken
Is What He Is About
He feels He Can Find Peace Within
If Shadows Are Without

As He Leans Above His Candle
In The Moldy Midnight Air
His Brow Is Slightly Fevered
His Empty Eyelets Stare

His Pen Is Ever Silent
His Somber Mood Is Still
The World Is Yet To Know Him
T'is Unlikely That It Will

My Heart Is Like A Millpond
Where Autumn Leaves Are Strewn
A Lonely Poet Resides Here
And He Weighs On Me Like Stone

.oeg ©

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