Sitting Still

Burning dead pages
The rusty barrel steams
And smokes
Inky smoke
From dead pages
Written in a simpler time
By a simpler mind
Now morning sun illuminates
The flying bits of ash
Still bearing faint imprints
Of text
Written
But never read
By another

Me
I’m still sitting
New words swirling
Beneath a blanket of desires
Clamoring for a chance
To audition
To sit in inky stillness
On a dead page
Destined
For the burn barrel