The Magical Pen

Ink flows through various emotions

Scribbling fiercely on

paper, the ink runs red

as I rage against loss, 

so much, relentless,

no chance to breathe.

Giving into grief and 

letting it free, the ink

delivers murky gray,

foggy words of rain

splattering the page.

When I go there into the 

deepest of recess, reaching

for every last scrap of dark,

the ink turns its blackest black.

Oily, thick, oozing across lines.

Today it changed and the 

ink was blue, calm and cool

rippling the words into wavelets 

of peace, renewal and hope.

I'm into the light and I love my pen.

d.s. hill