There I am,
running wild.
Free
as the
dandelion seeds
dancing in the air,
nestling into the earth
to make
my dreams
grow
true.

“Why do you write?”
Someone asked.
I smiled.
“It’s depressing when I read it.”
She continued.
And yet, I smiled again.

When the blue ink of the sky
drips into the salt of the sea,
drink of it.
Drink of it like tea.

When your cup is filled with ink - pen
blanket, journal, tea...
spill of it.
Spill your words on this white sea.

When ink pencils speak with colour,
drawing walls inside you & me,
Let's speak of it.
Let our words flow set us free.

When the black blots of ink
write moving letters in your heart,
sink in it.
Sink in the waters of your thought.

When the Vast Cloud of Ink
glows from the depth of your eyes;
I’ll know you drank of it.
You drank the stars into your skies.