Tale of a Poet

Lost in the mid of a writer
Confused and lost
Lost in a mind without logic
Imagination's cost.

Listening, hearing her cries,
I head it still
Bt it's not what I think
Of her tainted shrill.

A beast, venomous monster
Crouching, baring teeth
Dripping with blood, endless stream
Her pain beyond belief.

Lunging, leaping, shredding,
Her body, hope and soul
And her corpse still and stiff,
Lay as black as coal.

It's not until she rises
And courtly walks away
That I know, at last for sure
Imagination's pay.

What is imagination,
If it lies beyond control?
When black is naught, white is less,
Alas, I take my toll.