Scratches on a Page

It’s been awhile since I scratched
these pages with ink,
scribed words together in some
chaotic dance.

My fingers are stained with new ink,
another well to draw from,
more moment to relay
stories for me to tell.

With what has dried on this nib
I feel a certain obligation to
to write through it all,
the faintest scratches and lines
still perfect to me.

We are like this pen, you and I,
perhaps dried-up from disuse
but eager for the moment to be
used again, in whatever way
deemed fit.

So then, let us write the stories untold
and bleed again to gilded-edged pages
for it is our duty
purpose
destiny
above all.

May it ever be so.