Short Story: Blood And Ink

ShortbreadFrans Jozef GoossensShort Stories › Blood And Ink

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A poem born of the observation that reserve our hopes and dearest wishes for one day, but it's like a two-faced person, who cajoles us first to set the heart for one course in particular and then brings us up short in our ambitions, never to seize our rewards. 'One day' can be a pathological liar, but with some luck and shrewdness, and a determined will, we can fool the bugger and snap that reward from his fingers


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In the ablutionary light of a hiemal Eve,

treading over the tapering path of ash and soot,

knees buckled, skin splotched and eyes chinked,

his shadow is the gun-metal-grey serenity of

a fey yonder arced above dormant ivory beaches.

His soul is ink and it mutes chapters

on the endurance of a cursed legacy

and bedevilment pelting the heart into a tomb

of disgrace, drown in burning poison;

that ink feeds his blood, races his life pump

to move on, never surrender, to foil the mirage

of mourning with the shield of patience and

the dagger of wit.

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Adam West Guest Editor said "I often find poetry 'beyond me' - I can't say I understood your poem but I did find the imagery exciting and the prose striking...many thanks Adam"
2 years ago

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