Ink’s Muse Evolving

Ink begins without knowing,  

a dark pool,

a silence trailing from the bottom of glass,

a weight without purpose.

It drips,

shapeless,

a blot on surfaces uncontained,

a stain on a sleeve,

a careless smudge across a margin,

a mere accident, unaware of destiny.

Then…

A scroll receives it,

amidst blobs gathering,

where hesitant constellations,

half-formed galaxies of thought,

offered purchase.

The muse stirred,

a quivering in the fluid,

a tremor at quill’s point.

Lines emerged,

curves found rhythm,

letters awakened.

Ink stretched into syllables,

syllables into breath,

breath into story as Ink begins to live.

No longer residue,

it is resonance,

language unfurling,

a pulse of imagination pressed into paper’s skin.

Napkins hold its first rehearsals,

scraps cradle its fragile beginnings.

Paper grants permanence,

a stage for its voice.

And now…

Ink’s liquidity learns its new body.

It is no longer confined to glass containers,

nor bound to parchment.

It travels, it multiplies, its unique evolvement waits in the ether,

ready to be summoned by the poet’s heart, mind and  hand,

and the reader’s eye.

Ink’s Muse,  

once a quivering vibration,

now a chorus,

a living tool sharing currents of thought’s imaginative power.

Digitized, translated into light, into pixels,

into streams of code.

Its reward: to be remembered not as an archaic ember of pigment,

but as a spark.