Whispering Ink
A tourniquet made of ink
Aiding in the healing of my wounds
Collecting my virulent pain, it sinks
Filling an open vein, it flows through
Spilling swirls of raven's blood like droplets
Upon the bare skin of an empty leaf
Forming words that, like a spell,
Begin to lift me from my grief
With the final verse firmly pressed
A found breath escapes my breast
And like a hurried kiss
Is courted by the dancing breeze
With the ink almost dry
My heart sets to ease
Written upon the page
My soul's release
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