Salute to inky things

By hand and by feather words spill for the army of ink … when night arrives, they snuggle beneath my pillow soft like a hidden treat.  Riding the rise and fall of a slumbering breath, catching sweet dreams and solft sounds that awaken a new day …

It is these inky little things that stand me up when I slip on back  .  Lead me forward into places I wouldn’t go all by myself  .  Write the wrongs through poems and songs  .  Turn me around so I can see beyond the moment  .  Hold me in a silent vigil when I’m all but beat  .   Haul me up when I put myself down  .   Put me in touch with what I could once only feel  .  Create picture books of what I can’t tell  .  Spin the harsh words of others into a silk thread that stitches them up  .  And when night arrives they snuggle beneath my pillow soft like a hidden treat  .  Riding the rise and fall of a slumbering breath  .  Catching sweet dreams and soft sounds that awaken a new day.      Pass it on …