There are wells of ink that
are being tapped daily
staining the world with verse.

The ink that stains this page
is spilled into a great sea
underneath the bed
of sleeping poet
lost in dreams of his muse

The ink that runs into verse
they found it did not rhyme
so they criticized him unmercifully
in the village square
he had this recurring nightmare

The ink that spilled out
ran into a muddled mess
and fell out of his eyes
black it ran
like rain from a polluted sky

The ink that flowed into words
that filled the soul
whispering of sorrows and sadness
loves gained and lost again
it stained his broken heart

The ink that filled this well
the tears that fell
spilling out like screams
nightmares paint the air
as he arose from his dream

The ink had pooled here
in this sea of tears
where muse whispers sadly
stained the poets’ dreams
light poured into the sea

© CJ Clark
All Rights Reserved