Shadows on parchment, continuous swirl
Black, the very essence of night
Captured in droplets, following light
In the hush, between words unsaid
Concertos composed in silence unread
Every stroke of the pen creates or destroys
A cosmos unfolding, filling the voids
Stream of dreams, meanders and seeks
Through valleys of paper, mountainous peaks
Blood of thought, fluid of soul
Ready to render the incomplete, whole
Spanning the chasm, imagined or real
Gaps between that which we think and feel
To dance, to fight, to love, to grieve
In gardens of scribbles, each spot a leaf
The plume, the sword, the writer, the muse
Together, the power to write and enthuse
Ink, in its boundless seas, we find
Reflections of heart, echoes of mind
