The Infinite Ink

 

The Infinite Ink

He has no lead , no limits, he only knows write.

It is not wrong for him because he goes where there is insight.

He drifts to the world unseen and brings back what he has collected

He sees storms the size of brains, some magnifcent and bright.

He's seen dust bunnies inside, the ones lacking light.

He can only go where they don't dare ask be and sprout ideas into trees.

He twists cogs and knobs seeing what they will do for him.

Each time he does he sees a sight and gains a valued clue.

His mind is his own and full of thought, one that can only one day end

He writes what he wants and where he wants for the pencil is not the thinker but his friend

 

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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