All different colors,
Able to create so much.
An ink pen,
Able to create worlds,
People,
Stories,
Lies,
And truths.
Ink is also a way to cover up,
Like and octopus fleeing,
Or a pen scratching out.
Ink can also destroy,
A simple word can ruin a person,
A simple lie can ruin their character.
Ink in it's natural form is back,
Devoid of light,
Waiting for it to be filled in.
Ink has a need to spread,
To share.
Ink is nothing without it's medium.
A pen,
It's paper,
An octopus,
It's water,
Yet all the same purpose.
Steven Krauss-Akins ©2015
YOU ARE READING
POEMS for everything
PoetryA collection of poems from emotions to ideas and everything in between.
