The Privacy of Ink
In the privacy of my pen, my breath rises and falls,
absorbing the colors of my everyday way.
Before tip touches page, in the absence of calls,
The ink is the muse that persuades me to stay.
In the privacy of my pen, the ink is my mirror
Sifting and lifting the truth from the page;
Bottling the strewn emotions of ecstasy to terror
In flasks of perfumed crystal for my hoary age.
Please login or register
You must be logged in or register a new account in order to
Login or Registerleave comments/feedback and rate this poem.