Out of Ink

And the pen scratches away,

Etching the ideas of the eternal mind

And for years there they lay

Waiting for someone to find

In unison the pens scratch away

Bleeding onto the pristine

Of the unspoiled white pages

Smearing them with the tongue of our minds

the ink lays on the surface

but it runs truly deep

with them I have written words

that into time will seep

This community of writers has forever been my anchor

But as I leave the harbour, and

set sail into tumultuous waters

I cannot help but think

Of where these ones beside me may be

When my story runs out of ink