The Slaking Pen

Doesn't want to write, doesn't want to care,
Or want to seem to be at all aware
Of the plight that I'm in, of the fatigue;
Far have I traveled. Yonder hills, the leagues
Between them and me fraught with perilous
Beings and strange creatures that roam the earth,
Are something that I'd like to give wide berth,
But the need that drives me is like to fuss.
The Fuss is a power, makes me cower
Like a boy in the middle of July
When I was still young and so very spry.
With dreadful pain and weary limbs I take
Upon myself, once more, the pen to slake
The feelings that do draw upon my heart
And cause me to forget myself in part.

                               The Slaking Pen, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012