Deadly –
My words sworn,
Run deep into the edge of forlorn,
Spilt into the cracks,
Flaws and faults detected,
Dipped in ink,
Forsaken by the sun,
Lost in a dark shadow –
And a clouded sky,

Of unspun verse,
My words on the verge of acid and tone,
The brink of four corners,
And moan,
Circling the square,
Rotating around,
Pushing the bounds,
Bleeding thoughts as they fall,
To paper, my pen curses,
Cursive and handwritten,
A language of my own.

Ink and Quill


Incredible photography by Pheasant Fashion Photography. megankelly.org

This is my passion,
The ache and urge,
For my words,
To spill forth,
My sense,
My deepest heartfelt,
My thoughts conveyed,
Quill, a feathery plume,
Etched and engraved,
Ink drips,
Tints and stains the page,
Fragile, erratic and torn,
I breathe and write on.

Death In Paradise



This stillness is killing me,
The release of the night,
Wraps her cold hands around my throat,
Rigid, my bones grate,
The frame of myself,
Outlines the movement of my spirit,
An apparition, of the unforgiven,
The wind, discordant, blowing my fragility,
Tomorrow will come, life, endures on,
The question of my purpose,
Berating my mind,
Conviction dwelling in the shadows,
Tiptoeing slowly into the sun,
My intentions run deep,
The meaning sought.