Pen and Paper

July 11, 2015 - Video Games

I stand and ponder the endless reams.
Like ocean crests happy white,
They carry on the script’s light.
My thoughts they transfer to hapless dreams.

Then ink in dry blue waves washes in.
An idea is formed, fulfilled,
As print on paper is spilled.
O’er my mind the story starts to spin.

Now crashing home ink, sheet, and poet.
Always spring up, spin about,
Fly and are at last cast out.
Rhythm slows, stills, finds a dying note.

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