InkA Poem by Lydia Jamison
Ink.
I love the way it glides On the page beneath my pen, The way it speaks When there's nothing else That you can say. Ink. It's always there for me, Waiting at my side. When inspiration sparks, When something goes wrong, When I've got something to say. It can never judge me. Ink. It's always on my side. Whether I lose or win, Whether I'm right or wrong, Whether I can or cannot. It will help me clear my mind. Ink. There are some things it can't do. It can't tell me who I am, Or what I should decide. It can't give me an opinion, Or hold me when I'm alone. But I've never stopped to mind. Ink. I love the way it curls In my book on the lines. It smells sweet and sultry, Spills on the pages Like some sort of art. Ink. It's a new start. It's messing things up, And making them right again. It's the only road To a storybook ending. Ink. It flows through my veins, Almost like blood. It allows my heart to beat, For my emotions to rise. Ink. Hand and script . It can say so much, When in reality, It says nothing at all. © 2010 Lydia JamisonAuthor's Note
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5 Reviews Added on August 13, 2010 Last Updated on September 26, 2010 Tags: ink, writing, poetry, literature, poem, love, inspiration, art AuthorLydia JamisonHuntington Beach, CAAboutJust a teenage girl who loves music and literature. Nothing more to it. more..Writing
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