My Black Inkwell

This is a story, of that I’ll tell

As I fill my black inkwell

A pen and pad, it works you see

Yet naught compares to quill, and ink

To sit within this room of black

And think of all the world shall lack

The pain I feel, I think it so

The same as Edgar Allen Poe

A Telltale Heart, a seedless plum

A tortured Pit and Pendulum

F. Scott Fitzgerald knew it too

Society is just a ruse

A dance, a game, a twist, a turn

We writers ask “when will they learn”

The answer lies so far within

A world of malice, hate, and sin

The times have changed, the people, not

For money’s always paid and bought

It’s ruined folks, brought out the worst

The evil, bad, their power thirst

The ones who see it, smart they are

The stronger intellect goes far

The ones who don’t, who lie and cheat

Shall have their shame drug on the street


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