Let the Ink Run

Some recurring themes are blatant in this poem. Writing it after sprouts of thought had already begun spreading leaves, I was left with reminders of the seeds that had sprouted; feet that didn't trust the ground, a welcome to the scraps of an unsettled mind, dissonant dreams hedging the dawns.  All like stones marking the gardens of words that I seem to have stumbled upon; and sometimes stumbled over.  But watching things begin to live is worth some dirt on your hands.

Let the Ink Run

God bless the colors of your mind;

The anthemic operas of dissonant dreams

Standing before you, a wall to the day.

Volumes said to the wind,

Screamed at the deep.

Are you as silent inside as out?

So let the ink run.

And golden light of day and dawn, 

Though mountain hardly purple shines, 

Burn in bolts of amber sun

More cold than aching time.

And let the ink run.

With a quiet huzzah, 

You walk through the dawn; 

Tearing its seams as you pass.

Tearing its seams at your dreams.

Walking alone with the rest of them.

Like walking next to a ghost;

Like dancing with no bones.

So let the ink run.

Welcome to the scraps of an unsettled mind.

Speak not your silencing solutions.  

Their breath is too shallow to still the deepened soul.

My feet don’t trust the ground anymore; 

Delicate sole.

And let the ink run.