Quietly he sits, <br />By his papers and pen, <br />On the lone lamp lit desk... <br /> <br />Waiting for the words, <br />To come to him, to be written down. <br /> <br />He says nothing as his the strokes of his pen hits the page... <br />Beautiful words that create the pictures, <br />Of the warm sunset on a beach, <br />Or the dead dusk of winter and the rotting trees... <br /> <br />Silence, is immortal fiend and his dearest friend, <br />He is loveless and alone. <br />His only companions are the deathly quite, <br />And his poems scattered abroad. <br /> <br />So quietly he sits, <br />By his papers and pens, <br />On the lone lamp lit desk, <br />He is the poet of mute...<br /><br />Peter Vector<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-poet-of-mute/
