Paper-Cuts

 

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Pellucid petals of lust,
I, lean over to smell the paper,
Where I lament my dead hopes
burning ferociously.
My pen is pervicacious
inclined to savour the smoke ignited.
The words are my soul,
Insatiable I am dipped in its white corona.
Cathartic particles of serenity forms
as I write my love,
The paper, the pen, the paper-cuts
soaks me in its sullen charm.
And I declare my writing — my muse.

©My Valiant Soul

 

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my valiant soul

A dreamer and a believer for the upliftment of women rights. A published poet, author, writer. Believes in dancing and cooking amazing food for hungry souls at times. Loves to write and write till the moon is satisfied. My writings can be found at Visual Verse, Indian Periodical, Sick Lit mag, Duane's Poetree, Thistle magazine, among various others. Curator of Olive Skins.

54 thoughts on “Paper-Cuts”

  4. You may find this odd, but I find this piece uplifting at this time.
    Thank for providing such a first read for my day.
    Hope you’re well. Gotta go. : )

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  13. As we allow the surge to flow, the words do come as if directly pieces of soul, and the process does indeed feel like a great love from which all, there is, arises …even the paper cuts become beautiful!
    Loved getting immersed in your work.

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  20. Great use if alliteration and I like your take on the muse – writing itself. That’s a huge declaration, for sure, and you’ve penned your declaration very well.

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