Ink

Scrawled across

previously blank paper,

these words, once thoughts,

are created as physical entities

by the strokes of my pen.

I, the writer,

am the all-powerful deity

in this book.

 

Following my pen

are my messages to the masses,

made solid by pitch ink.

As holy as myself,

these words of ink

are the body and blood

of language.

Without them,

my will and creations

would cease to exist.

No heart would there be,

no soul for readers

to drink in and absorb.

 

Ink is both eternal

and ephemeral.

The words can pass through time

on the hardy and flitting

memories of mankind.

Though, easily are they destroyed

by the slightest human whim,

or even nature’s deeming.

Their immortal is their life within.

Merely a tool of human possession,

ink is more than

the transfer of transient thoughts.

 

It bleeds

at the first touch

of a page

and smears its tears

when blotted by liquid.

Truly, it is the observer

of human will.

Author's Note

We writers are gods and words are our creations.

Reviews

[Inyourshadow]

I have Been quoted as have said that we slash our metaphoric wrists and bleed freely on the virgin flesh that is our parchment. Yes words have power and a kind of raw primal magic lifting from the page our thoughts and inserting them into the minds of others. Love it, keep em' coming