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
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