Nothing More than Ink.

Sentences are nothing more than words in line, 

marching like soldiers over pages into time.

Words are nothing more than letters in a row,

no spaces between them, no limits to where they go.

They can say what you want, they can speak what you like.

The only thing that controls them is the author's might.

Holding volumes of wisdom, they might yet be small.

Despite their shortcomings they grow ever tall.

They can spite, bite, say goodnight.

if given control then perhaps they might

show meanings and feelings even despite

the author's attempts to control the fight.

Heartbreak and laughter, wisdom and pride

all these feelings so bona fide. 

Much more than thoughts are swept away

in phrases that last for countless decades.

And so I end this poem of mine

with words that I hope will abide.

All us writers, great and small

have our own incredible call. 

If we wield our words like knifes

maybe we might relieve much strife.

But if at last our call is gone,

look and persuade others to fight on.

Reviews

[Cindy Marietta]

I really dig this, your idea of the foundations of a simple sentence is really cool, and I like the rhyming you did too, super good.

[Not here]

Thank you alot :)

[....................]

An enduring sentiment for the true writer. I love the way you begin this piece and agree wholeheartedly. Nice write!

[Not here]

Thank you alot.