Marquis de Sade
My arm for a quill,
My soul for a pen.
For words in a will,
For letters to friends.
A word or a phrase
What a succulent thing,
To search for and gaze,
To speak or to sing.
A written exorcism
For demons within.
Fit for all seasons,
From winter to spring.
My arm for a quill,
My soul for a pen.
My search, what a thrill,
I’ll do it again.
Some blood or some wine,
Any will do.
To write and to dine,
On words and a book.
Just give me a word,
A letter, a syllable.
Then time and some ink,
And I’ll make you a miracle
My arm for a quill,
My soul for a pen.
The ink as my tool,
And a muse for a friend.
This poem won me a first place prize in college. I still enjoy reading it from time to time.
