Instrument of life
is the poet’s pen
She runs the ink dry
again and again
Writing to drive back
the darkness of night
Constantly trying
to summon the light
Indigo shadows
which must be erased
Striving for truth lest
her life be a waste
Wringing out her pen
onto the blank page
Speaking of the world
the sorrow, the rage
This slender vessel
must conduct the flood
For the poet’s pen
is channelling blood
© Andrea Da Costa
Poetry comes nearer to vital truth than history.
~ Plato
