Poem for Day 193 – 20150712
They say ink is spilled in pursuit
of poetry's goal to be shared.
Muse's blood spent to fulfill
the poet's desire to express a soul.
To this end I shout private words,
spilled from my bleeding pen,
made public by my admissions
of humanity shared.
I see the drops laid at my feet,
combined to flow in unison
as the stream of my work is lost
to the common breadth of ocean.
So many competing scribblings,
clamoring to splash kind reader
with ink of the poetic soul
seeking to be heard above the din.
Yet a connection does exist
to those who choose to read my words.
I may not be an ocean deep,
this matters not if the ink does speak.
I say ink is spilled for words
bled from the soul, sent to you,
meager droplets of a life shared
so we may not drown in this world.
© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.