Poetry

I am the ink

I am the ink that melts it’s way from the pen on to the paper

Strong and vibrant to begin, but eventually I wither

Always gone in times of need, but quickly summoned hither

Often misleading when I lose touch, but then let out a slither

Here I am moulding the life you wish to record

Often you use me, but only when you’re bored

Sometimes used in a bid to replace the mighty lord

Lost living in the blissful world where the pen is indeed mightier than the sword

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