In my hands
I write my story,
And in my mind
I write memories.
...
Just A Bottle Of Ink
In my hands
I write my story,
And in my mind
I write memories.
In my heart
I write my pain,
But in my face
There is no crease.
Beyond these lands
I stalk the prairie,
And beyond my mind
I stalk the breeze.
Beyond the cart
I chase the rain,
But beyond this chase
There is no ease.
On my eyes
There are words,
And on my thoughts
A light blink.
On my seat
Is hidden a pen,
And on my table
A papered link.
Beneath the sighs
I move forwards,
But beneath the clouds
I cannot think.
Beneath my feet
There is a glen,
But beneath my fingers
Not a bottle of ink.