The Ink Cycle

Ink, the black water, The necessity for life Purified by blotters Contained in clouds in rife Ink! Yes, the purest of hydration! ...But what if conflagration Attempts its dissipation, Tossing burning embers Like a pen with ink, On seas across the nation Well, The ink evaporates And flows into the air Until it condensates And pours upon the flares So... There is ink they will suppress Hoping thoughts will evanescence But writers can't quiesce Hence: The ink shall pour down nonetheless