Ink Scented Nights

Just writing about... writing... so yeah.

INK SCENTED NIGHTS

Without Purpose, the heart leads the hand

to illustrate the canvas between spaced lines

visualizing the concepts the mind can't grasp

Or it chooses to simply ignore.

Theory of linear time crumbles away,

a myriad of small moments seem the only survivors.

And what was once blank and without meaning

becomes stained with the indelible marks of thought. 

My sight strains and blurs on all but the paper,

gaze turns inwards as words float around my head.

I catch them and lay them softly upon the page,

hopefully whats revealed to me makes sense.

And there I see it,

in the dot on the 'i',

the small tail on top of the 'o',

in the words on the page,

It's my reflection.

Reviews

[Nolo Segundo]

This is rather good--the 1st stanza is brilliant- I like how you capitalize--and conceptualize 'Purpose'. I also believe linear time is an illusion. And how lovely is that line about catching words and laying them softly on the page-- I do think in the next line you meant to write 'what's' as a contraction, as 'whats' is not a word.