Spilled Ink

It came flowing as black as the night.

It was a river of ink,

the bottle over tipped

and it wound its way -

across the desk,

across the papers,

making a mess.

*

The poet saw this

and he wondered at the sight.

it was best to consider,

what inspiration this might bring.

A river of black, swirling water,

making its way toward the sea,

under a dark and stormy sky.

*

He dipped his pen

into the ink -

that was now at the edges,

threatening to overflow,

like a waterfall

cascading down.

*

Finding some paper.

he contemplated -

where the journey might come to an end.

The river hit white rapids,

heading for a waterfall.

The water went churning down,

there below to calmly begin,

its journey once more.

*

For awhile the storm raged,

the ripples of the waves,

tossed the boat to and fro.

Yet through it all –

the captain valiantly,

held onto the wheel.

*

Upon the desk ink puddles,

the river at a standstill.

In the poet’s mind,

the pen poised -

waiting for the next line.

The door burst open,

the wind whipped in,

sending the curtains flapping.

When the poet’s creation was done -

penned as he had wanted it penned,

not only was there ink upon the desk,

but also across the floor.

Over the windowsill -

many tiny, inky cat paw prints.