Friday, July 27, 2012



I have known for a while now

That ink is a conduit

It stains my thoughts

Providing shadows to the energy

So we can see them

Clearly, vividly, naked

It runs under my skin

Walking through memories

Erasing the pain

Creating movement’s purpose

A call to wakefulness

Lifting from slumber

In the music of india ink

Black and bold strokes

Across many canvasses

Letters and syllables

Staining pillows and curtains

I borrow the words

From the ritual of lives

Soothing colors

Stories that are meant to be told

I try on my parchment

And travel where my pen takes me

© NP 07/27/12

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