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Let me be ink

I share my thoughts on love, softly.
Tell me, how do these words fall?
How potent is their playful dance,
As they surrender to the unknown?

I know, for some, my words just scratch,
As pencil meets with hemp.
A mismatched pair, not ready yet,
The exchange impermanent.

A few hear my thoughts, for a single breath,
As slate takes chalk for a day.
Their presence enjoyed, before casually wiped
Clean, for the evening’s display.

Others file this thinking, in a box of ideas,
Their neatly formatted hard drive of Life.
Respected, referred to, discussed when apt,
Then replaced with the blade of a knife.

Steadfast and pure, these words glide along,
Seeking playmates some place in the ether.
Bright in their song, with a rhythm that’s strong,
And a trust their time will come.

And trust delivers, one who feels my words,
As silk feels ink when it dries.
Each letter considered and gently absorbed,
Their truth held with a tint in the eyes.

Let me be ink

Filed under: Poetry

About the Author

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A playful story seeker, Pip helps businesses communicate better.

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