A metaphor for my writings in a poem
Flower buds spilled from ink
& from my heart blossoms the words
Like beauty stirs the day
So does ink upon my sheet
Curving those lines
Shaping those stories
They blossom they blossom
From the cave of my mind
And the vernacular veins of my heart
Creeping their ways to anywhere
And as they go upon there
My mind stops & wonder & think
Of these weeds these seeds I feed
I write till non stop I write till extasis
Within my roots ink spills
Making shapes of my mind at stake
I am sane I am sane
As these words blossom
Into flowering buds.
This poem is the continuation of a verse I wrote last year, titled spilled ink. For some time now it’s been on my mind to finish this poem, where to me, the metaphoric picture in my mind of a poem really seem like flowers blossoming out from ink or, a pot of ink.
