Touch of an Ink (Poem)
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Dear Poetry
Please, pass me some of those your ink again,
My deep inkpot here can't paint but a white dot;
I've lost that the tears, the burning first urge,
That ignited from the pulpiness of that loving first touch;
The clouds have gathered above my naked roof,
Together they laugh, they jest over my innocence,
They hid the day's sun and I have no light for my dear ink,
She's just been waggling her feet, making mere lines on a paper.
Dear Poetry, come again; speak forth yet again;
I want to smell your fragrance waking my smell again,
I want to drink of waters that they wake my thirst again,
Oh, can I taste the sweetness of your savory meal?
Take over my fingers and they will run free,
Painting papers and pages with words of the heart strings,
This sad plea is genuine, in the hearts of many a few,
Your fresh touch is needed again; come through tonight.
Dear Poetry