Refill

I am the pen of life Held between the fingers Of a much greater power I flow my footprints onto pages Even glass, wood or the roughest surface Engraving a non cryptic legacy Bleeding in cursive inkblots Embedding confusion into the psyche Of the psychological And stain with smudges the white card backdrops Where all but the unknown remain To taint and blemish The nature of the purest liquid Rolling, tumbling, leaking Crying mascara from start to finish To leave some memory Of any sort of acceptance While in a putrid state of lucidness Gliding, striving, soul seeking For purpose and repentance My greatest fear Is that it will start to rain Before the ink has dried