Writers are murderers in their own right,
sealing fates with words of contrite.
It is on the carcasses of trees that they ink their tales,
Blood is the ink by which they use,
blackened by the deaths it has transduced.
Employed are a writer’s words of guise,
capable of telling both truth and lie.
from far beyond the walls.
from far beyond Society’s ails.
a life now ensued,
a path I can now tread.
They say eyes are windows to the soul,
panes of glass in which to glimpse a person’s whole.
They say eyes speak with words untold,
pages never to be written.
Books never to be sold.
Some say eyes are orbs by which to see, and nothing more.
Those who adhere to one thing are destined to ignore,
for the eyes are so much more than glass, unspoken words, and orbs.
Brittany Coffman here, the author/creator of this corner of the Web. “The Shadow Gallery” is my official debut as a blogger-person-thing, so I hope that you, the readers, find it worthy. (If not, oh well.)