The Inkwell
An ink well sits filled with untapped imagination,
Awaiting a pen upon paper to manifest its creations.
They are someone’s thoughts, dreams, and illusions,
For many, it’s a world where there’s no confusion.
To write a simple poem or note or story,
Not to seek anyone’s applause or fake glory.
It’s a time to pierce the ink’s mysteries,
Proclaiming for all to see the writer’s victories.
Yes, each story, each moment the ink speaks,
Moves the soul forward, smiles on upturned cheeks.
Without a writer, a story-teller the ink remains still,
Holding within it life, love, laughter, and death’s chill.
Lifting my pen, some feather-tipped utensil,
Endeavoring to stir the placid surface now still.
Holding my breath and widening my eyes to see,
Creations await as upon paper they dance with glee.
About the Creator
Dan R Fowler
Dan R. Fowler. https://www.amazon.com/Verge-Dan-R-Fowler. Completed 41 novels since 2017. Screenplay being shopped by Voyage Media, LA, CA
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More stories from Dan R Fowler and writers in Poets and other communities.
Snow Need to Rush
I watched my breath form a small white cloud as it puffed out of my lips and dissipated before my eyes. I rubbed my hands together, blowing into them with the precious bit of warm air that remained in my lungs. My leg bounced as I stared into the cold dark world beyond the windows of my truck as they remained partially fogged up.
By Donna Fox (HKB)7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (2)
This was wonderful! Do you think that there is magic in ink?
Really enjoyed the flow and tone of the piece, and I especially appreciated the last two lines. Nicely done :)