Ink And Paper Will Do
In a dim-lit room where shadows linger,
I sit alone, with pen in hand,
Seeking solace in the ink's embrace.
The paper waits, blank and serene,
A canvas for my thoughts to flow,
A refuge from the chaos outside.
Ink spills forth, a river of words,
Pooling on the pristine paper,
Each line a glimpse into my soul.
Through the dance of ink on paper,
I find release from the world's weight,
And immerse myself in the act of creation.
But ink is fickle, prone to wander,
Leaving trails of darkness on the page.
I chase its elusive path, desperate to capture
The essence of my fleeting thoughts.
Yet the paper remains, patient and steadfast,
A silent witness to my struggles.
In the stillness of the night, I write,
Each stroke of the pen a silent prayer,
Hoping to find clarity in the chaos.
The ink bleeds into the fibers of the paper,
Creating a tapestry of emotions,
A testament to the human experience.
As dawn breaks, I lay down my pen,
The inkwell depleted, the paper filled.
Though the world may rage outside,
I find peace in the simplicity of creation.
For in the union of ink and paper,
I discover a refuge, a sanctuary,
A place where I am free to be myself.
So let the storms rage on,
Let the winds howl and the thunder roar.
For here, in this quiet corner,
Ink and paper will always do.
Copyright © Moonlit Whisper | Year Posted 2024
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