There are ghosts in my brain
chasing thoughts from dark places,
plucking dandelion seeds
to harvest words from wild weed.
Devil’s in the ink…
God’s in the paper…
My poem-father is Poe,
my god-muse a raven.
Offer me bread and I’ll choose a pen.
Crumbs of wheat can’t take me
where black ink puddles lead.
Real Toads ~ Bits of Inspiration ~ Poet Discovery
