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.
A Teacup Full of Stories 