Tenacity’s Valve
by Odin Roark

His spirit
This inner life
Of isolation and safety
Writes all day
All night

Grabbing an impression here
A sensation there
Blood’s rush carries
His sagacious imagination
Through tunnels where
Long buried melancholy
Sometimes hides

In this world of never ending sustenance
How resplendent passion’s red
Flowing from his feverish quill
Engraving its essence

Often a blur of ideas
Creation’s shadow plays off
Subterranean walls
A mock speed rushing forth
To pause unforgivable

To brain’s vault of safety
Inspiration attaches quickly
Avoiding the return cycle
Where life’s other needs
Could exhaust the moment

The sound of his pen
On the surface of mind
How rewarding the constant
Crimson ink ready at hand
A bottle’s worth never empty

He does worry though
Someday passion’s willingness
May cease to give
The quill could vanish
Writing surface evaporate
The spirit…

Yet the willing know

Tenacity’s valve
Where tempestuous flow ever available
Need only be embraced
And honored

Listen…

Hear the tenacious pen scratching
Opting access
To any and all
Blank paper in waiting