Bogleech.com's 2019 Horror Write-off:
Scrivener - A Poem
Submitted by Shakara
Parchments and ink
A scratching quill in hand
Long-time in the writing
Not gentle the toil
Dredging thoughts from the black of mind
A sea of creativity plundered, I write
Dusk to dawn alike, thoughts sparked as stars
Never to rest when the drive demands it
Candles burnt to stumps of wax
Ink of purple, blue, black
On and on, page upon page, I scribe
How many times has the moon risen ‘pon me?
The siren song of slumber calls
But I know tis a ruse
A powerful draught of earthen-dark elixir
Poured down the throat, it chills with icy burn
Pages make novels, and novels to books
Every nook and cranny, pilfered for an idea
The lanterns snuffed, the oil burnt out long before
How many times has the sun set ‘pon me?
The castle is large, yet not infinite
Parchments all over the library desks
How many rooms are there? I do not recall
I have not heard the doors open in a long time
Alone, the hall sees naught but this breath
The hands affixed to pages and quill
When did they leave? Who had fled?
I remember nothing but to write
The torches gasped their last in a crackle of red-black
I write by the starlight through the glassless window
Have I slept? Have I eaten? Have I drank?
Superfluous worries, I continue to scrawl
Woe and tears. Woe betide who sees upon I
I know not what happened, but I know they wouldn’t look upon I with favour
Here I lay, scrawling, the infinite scribe. For what? For who? Myself?
If I run out of ink, I shall simply use blood! If I run out of paper, I shall write ‘pon my skin!
When my skin was covered, I writ on the walls
When I ran out of blood, I used ashen water
When I ran out of energy, I kept going
When I ran out of tears, I kept going
I hunger not
I thirst not
I sleep not
I write on. Tis my office to do so, and shall I write
I write write write write write write write write write write write write write write write write ... ... ...