Ink.

It glides down a page, almost with an air of superiority

as it touches every scrap of snow white paper in close proximity.

It gleams black as if taunting the light, asking it

to diminish its power impossibly. 

Ink laughs at the prospect of death

as it stains endless amount of pages

for its influence can never be tarnished. 

The symbols it forms will stand for eternity,

holding its acquired control over our

eloquent tongues and

introspective minds.