Ink and Paper

With awkward reach the strike of the pen has tipped the ink well splattering onto white paper, vanquishing the lyrics from the poet’s pen, scribbling vignettes of joy or strife, little stories-a slice of life. His pen shall not find its perfect labor scribed upon this miscued, defaced paper to define his words of fire or ice Though in this blot of ink a portrait seen a mirror of the artist's gaze where the vision writes the stories of imaginary words unseen. The poet’s eye beholds as his heart summons from the library of memories that phrase drafting a vignette of this wraith’s meaning Now the poet speaks while his mind is dreaming: ‘Tis raven’s wings spread to fly on a mystical flight drawn into a universe of beaming light ‘Tis free falling souls swimming unfurled in brimming tears drowning in a homeless world Or, could it be the sweat of a laboring farmer’s pain falling on the dry, unforgiving soil as he waits for rain Maybe the blood of perished soldiers who have gone before fallen in the wastes of war It could simply be the scribbling of butterflies delight imprinting beauty on their tenured flight Or, the glorious colliding of glistening shards that careen from exploding castaway stars on a palette of gleam And through his persuasion of free falling thought, he is challenged by the aspect of black to white- its perception is what its opposite has wrought When the light is turned off When the sun has disappeared The night weaves our intricacy The magic of contrast is what we see Black in its extinction takes its space in a void of emptiness to embrace the borderless place that absorbs us Defining our imperceptible selves With only the light of understanding that will tell the glow of purpose inside all of us The verse is scribed…….. The meaning defined…… The contrast is sublime April 30, 2022