April 19, 2011

Ink

I store my soul in a jar of ink
My mind within a quill
Where they shall stall until I call
To bend them to my will
Here at my desk I sit and think
The jar begins to fill
As liquid words rise to the brink
I dip my mind into my soul
It rises wet with dreams distilled
In ecstasy my heart is filled
As on the page of life is spilled
The words which make me whole

9 comments:

Reformed and Renewed said...

Very well said.

Kaitlyn said...

I fall in love with this little piece more and more everytime I read it. Simply wonderful. :)

Toyin O. said...

Very nice poem, thanks for sharing:)

Mark Zellner said...

Glad you guys liked it. Thanks for reading, friends!

2thumbsup@u said...

extacy feeds my soul too Mark, it's like scripture! except it burns the heart right out though! leaves me feelin kinda used, fills the pages though.
thanks for the verses bro!

Bethany Elizabeth said...

Well said, definitely well said. :) That's pretty much how it is, isn't it?

SammyJo said...

I like it. Very nicely put. :)

Mark Zellner said...

Bethany, Sammy, 2thumbs, glad you all enjoyed this piece. I find this is one that writer's, (esp poets) tend to identify with. I think if you've been a poeteer for any length of time you eventual end up writing poetry about writing poetry. :p

2thumbs, thanks for such a heartfelt description! I know what you mean, but it's a good sort of "used up" feeling, like being spent at the end of a hard day's work, or a long journey. It's relief from a sort of pressure.

Ginny said...

What a perfect expression of a writer's thoughts and feelings. Very nice.