A Teacup Full of Stories

Hi there! Please enjoy this latest little poem of mine, titled ‘Ink’.

I live, surrounded by

Blank screens and shadows, one

Waiting for all the possibilities, blank

Canvas, blank slate, start afresh; and yet, I

Am haunted by these dark fingers of thought,

Skeletal hands, ink-stained fingertips,

Chalk dusted prints;

Turn quickly, reach out with

Pen to press on paper before it is inflamed

By darkness, watch the smoke curl  as you clutch your corners,

Be the moment when, as the ember dies the shape is held,

But for a second,

Before the inevitability of its own destruction reduces it to nothing more than ash,

Dust on the kitchen floor that lingers under cupboards

Where the brush of new hope never quite manages to reach,

And all my blank screens that promise me the future

Are thus eroded, defeated and forgotten

Like wisps of smoke on a summer’s day, but,

I promise you,

One day my forest fires will rage and burn

All this darkness away.

If you drop me I may shatter into all the pieces

That make up myself,

Bound together with fragility and words,

Intertwined with darkness, that penetrates with stealth

The places left unguarded by barriers of thought,

It lingers here like dewdrops;

And one day

Shall be washed away, like rivers of ink

Clearing the way.