Wicked hand, dark as the blackest night
Striking the lily white sheet with poisoned quill
Smouldering, meandering and creating your ill.
Thoughts dipped in strychnine propelled in lightening's light
Like tarnished brass or broken pearls or evil darts in flight

Equipped with tools of writing trade
You are locked inside a bygone age
Where you learned little more than juvenille skill
And it's your hurting soul that drives the quill

Here anger rules
And a dubious neutrality reigns
Resentment fuels the fiery furnace
Devouring life itself in its own crematorium
Creating a powder compact of blackened ashes
For your sullen face

You hide with shame behind the bars of your heart's prison
Where you are both warder and inmate
Black and white personified
An unfinished composition
Of immature discordant harmonies

Be patient child
With help, the day will come
You will not remain an unfinished symphony forever
Untarnished brass and beautiful pearls
Will be revealed
Like some oceanic bounty

As surely as the tide turns
So will you be healed