Forlorn

So easy to be drawn,
Then thrown upon the rocks,
For I am but forlorn,
And begging for the scorn,
To fall before the morn,
Upon the waiting stocks.

Copyright © 2014 by Simon Austin

Inkless Pen

I watch you burn above the pyre,

Emasculate upon the fire -

What use are you to me, to them?

A pointless weapon, inkless pen.

This waste of space, this waste of time,

Thrown to another, but still mine.

I want it used yet want it gone;

My loving lyrics hate the song.

A hole filled heart in endless pour

Upon this virginity floor,

I will not plug it, will not try,

I'll let it run until I'm dry.

In my despair, and mine alone,

A soul of ice and heart of stone.

I hate this night and long for dawn 

But hate the light and loathe the morn,

So let me burn and be it done

Before the rising of this sun.

I was once loved and loved deeply

But squandered such a love as we

That thought there better, more advanced

And wasted yet another chance.

I am but lost, and wander so

And now have nowhere left to go,

So stop the world and let me off,

I cannot stay, it is too tough

For I am done, so let it be,

This love for you, a vacancy

That shall not be written again,

For all the ink has left my pen.

Copyright © 2014 by Simon Austin

That which is unwritten, remain it so.