Inkblood – A Poem about the Writing Process
Beneath a pale, July moon
An ancient manuscript sits
Illuminated by candlelight,
Its pages gently rustling in the breeze
Blowing behind the curtains of the nearby window.
The ink is faded beneath
Layers of time and age,
But the wisdom remains
Scribbled in rhymes,
Written eons ago by some old sage.
But tonight it’s voice has a reader –
A man of sandy, blond hair
Ponders over your verses
And reflects on the meaning of your lines.
And like magic, the grime vanishes,
the words sparkle, and come to life.
Your cold, decomposed, long lifeless corpse
May only be fertilizer to the tongues of roots,
But your blood still flows and pulses
Through the pages you stained black with blood from your pen.
The body may have an expiration date,
But thoughts, words, and ideas have no end.
We live on through the pages we inhabit –
Awake to the reader’s touch,
Soar the skies once more, high
On some incomprehensible magic like pixie dust.
I deposit my heart of pains, joys, loves, and flames
Into the safe guard of your keeping.
My receipt is a word count
That compounds with the interest of each reader’s heart.
-Poem Written by Justin Farley
Pic. – onlanka.com