Blackest ink, the color of my love,
Has carved the snowy footsteps in the night;
Compelled to venture where the land grows rough
And wrapped in breathlessness like candlelight,
Composing notes you may find good enough.
Be carved in snowy footsteps of the night
And melting snow. With ink as warm as blood,
Come wrapped in breathlessness like candlelight.
I am in search of truth in cedarwood;
A wanderer enamored of the right.
Melted snow with ink as warm as blood.
Composing notes you may find good enough,
I am in search of truth in cedarwood.
Blackest ink, the color of my love:
I write and yet remain misunderstood.
postscript
Pentelloum for 's February Form Fiesta. The thoughts of the poet wander, bleed, drip, carve, and feel. It is enough for the poet to find their truth in it, even when no one else does.