Drowning In Ink

I hate that I can see you
drowning in ink
far too muted
to ever be called blue
Am I meant to rescue you?
Without will or way
I have found you,
angry and left wanting,
dressed down on cotton pages,
milling in mediocrity
and pulling pleasantries
from the clichés that speak
your name and that of a writer
who is too afraid to spill passion
inside the loops of o’s
or stake a claim
on the shafts of hardened t’s.
I have seen you angry
and left wanting,
climbing out of the mouths
of silly men who call
themselves god or philosopher,
and laugh when they borrow
from a good man’s sin.
Am I meant to rescue you?
Because I am nothing
more than a hungry poet
who has been starved
in your passing and left
on the verge of greatness,
but I am certain once
I pull you from the depths
of shallow minds and place
you inside heady words
on gilded shelves, you may
wish to drown once more.

© Nicole Lyons 2019