Not just a fluid,
I am ink — the druid,
Shaping your ideas in a blink.
In depth of papers, I sink.

Not just a physical thing,
An end to your thoughts — I bring.
Not made to drink,
I am the almighty ink.

I flow on the paper,
With your thoughts — I caper.
Like the roots of a tree,
Even the history is written with me.

Not just a black fluid,
From the sac of a squid.
Not made to drink,
I am the almighty ink.

When the water comes
and the waves reach the shore
of the brink you’re sitting on,
don’t run,
don’t slip away;
look down instead.
If feeling the water sink in
will make every breath you do take in
more precious than a seapearl,
then jump.
Jump and drown in the sea.
Then live when you leave.

The autumn moon was receeding
At 5 AM this morning
Riding the wave of seasons
Wind stirring in a constant dance with the leaves

My cold mug of milk set upon the wire table outside
Under the Serviceberry
So I can pet the dog.

Kinetic shadows on the table
Wisped and whipped over the mug
Laying upon the white liquid
Thicker than the reflected light and dark. Boundaries that can't be bought.

Did the shadows, could the shadows, penetrate the surface of the milk?
Going deeper in where I can not see
To a place furrowed low
Perceived, yet not seen.

Is it a place with a soul
Creamy and still
Unmatched like time, marching or halting, that
which we can not ever hold?
Shadows on milk do not sink.

There really wasn't much to the day
A bit of sun
A bit of grey

Leaving me with room to think
A sip to numb
A heart to sink

This pit of jealousy has grown too deep.
I lash out at the walls but i only hurt myself in the process,
and as i sink lower, deeper;
I feel my friends stand on rising mountains.