Ink

As snow falls to the ground, my fingers remain busy punching keys, gripping pens nervously twirling curls from my hair Thoughts mimicking snowflakes Drifting onto paper as snow to pavement I cannotstop this.... I wake from my sleep, scribbling and jotting Nudges in my dreams awake me Darting visions protruding from within me Whispered sounds i strain to get word I cannotstop this.... My pen runs out of ink ..I scramble.. My pencil breaks I pull out my cell phone ..MEMO!.. Dead Battery! No computer... I begin to cut skin A poets words are as much a part of them as their limbs So with no ink, i bleed. I bleed for every thought that has ever Entered or exited my mental I bleed for every emotion i had no voice for I bleed for the tears I could not cry...but write. Ink staining fingers like hot tears burn flushed cheeks The eyes may be the peephole to the soul, but my fingers are its voice. I cannotstop this.... So I write With every ounce of strength within me I'll drain every drop of blood if need be But I will write. Thanking Apollo for his light I'll drive chariots through the night sky Instead of stars, I'll scatter words Truth twinkling from a higher place Metaphors left un-deciphered Somewhere in empty pastures lovers lay Together they'll pluck little drops of wisdom from the sky Decoding and debunking Planted seeds now plant seeds and somewhere...I'll be... Smiling so peacefully IWill notstop this..... Like a butterfly from its cocoon I'll spread poetic wings Leaving my mark on the world Through my word I'll teach many things Travelling the globe without even flying But no doubt this poets high Higher than the Sun that illuminates the sky; no drugs needed. I float on clouds filled with rhythms and rhymes Jazz notes and blues tunes, turn table scratches and melodic sounds found from ivory keys I Lay my head on pillows filled with words from Maya, Baraka and Brooks Absorbing every lesson taught; I know my history. I fill my psyche with knowledge to nurture My belly with strength to endure My heart with love of my craft! and with that...I write. I'll be writing when I take my final breath. I'll write until my head lays flat, arms over chest Cradled within the earth with my pen in hand I'll re-write my eulogy inside the lid of my coffin If they cremate me, I'll reconfigure my words within the flames Reincarnated as a pen, I'll give life to words regardless which state my form is in I WILL NOT STOP THIS.... In its simplest of means, I'm a sista on a journey A mission so it seems To free words and spread enlightment Refusing its end All I need for it to begin is air in my lungs and a pen.