Penned Prison

Fury runs through ferrous, black lines
Attempting the escape of a recycled muse.
Lividity plagues the mitts and mask
As useless mutterings cloud the mind
Preventing untried concepts
From transpiring.
Only the divine can grant
The vigor required to find
The spark
That is innovation.

Pounding heads
On pearls of Persian blue,
And writhing just to reach
A valid verdict
Of violet hue,
For red, and yellow
Have faded and died, too,
Of overuse.