Declaration of a Poet

Pens leak the inks of a soul onto the lines of an ear.
A poetic whisper to secretively conspire about the world we hold dear.
Dots and lines blot the blank and empty white,
A symbolic dance between reality and excitement, so to write.
An Author’s silent, benevolent charm
Inspires a reader’s security alarm.

Ready, Set, Ink.

Lost in the scriptures of truth,
They’ve found a new path to their youth.
Writing relieves my stress.
My inked pages must seem a mess.
Contort the words of figurative love,
But hold nothing to writing above.





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