The stain marked blots of swirled ink
Like a rabid rorschach dalmatian
Whose spots ripple radiuses that splice
And blend jagged lines into a roving equation of pi
Designed to describe the inner most 'I"
That is lost to a world paved in concrete palaces
Where stasis has become the new normal
Amongst the maelstrom of competing voices
Voicing their interpretation as unrequited
Expressions that stresses the individual syllables
Of FREE-DOM against the forces that otherwise
Leave the slate blank so that all that remains
Are empty spaces of what could have been
If ink never stained the page

To forge a poem,
A bar not resinous.
To steal a fire
From top a precipice.
To bear the heat
Of finite flames.
Embrace the hurt,
Engulf the pain.
Feel your wrist
Become alight,
Feel your hand
Begin to write,
Feel your thoughts
Escape the brink,
And feel your pen
Run off its ink.
Sparked inspiration
Ignites internal,
And burning paper
Becomes infernal.
Ashes, scorching
Stack in piles,
And ashen writing
Line in files.
A dying fire
Has lost its flare,
So write again
If you so dare.
Just light your hand
Ablaze again,
Consume the torch,
And raise your pen.

To be able to talk to
And through
This paper with a pen
Has been
A god send
Not letting me break,
But letting me bend
Allowing me to mend,
Both my mangled heart and broken spirit,
Like a good friend

©2024

What once was clean
Untouched and unbroken
Now crumpled
Now broken
The paper creased
You try to fix it
Unfold the paper ball
Flatten it out on the table
Cover it
Attempt to mend it
Yet nothing works
The paper lies still
Still crumpled
Still broken
Still creased
Laid out on the table
For all to see