The Inkwell

The Inkwell

Once the inkwell had dried

I no longer saw the me in my eyes.

Nothing but scribbles upon gray irises-

landscapes stifled by bills and my own devices.

Deep Within the hearts hearth,

I beckon the flame to go back to work.

My soul longs for an overwhelming conflagration

To free me from mirages,

And the endless stagnation.

The fuel awaits a dormant match

I just need one opportunity,

one dream to catch.

Until then, I live content

Because time lived now,

Is still time well spent.