Ink.

Silence ..

Made up of debris from the war

that rose from

the impact of the shells

ordering my shadow

to run 

trying to avoid 

the blast wave

that would  

destroy

the relationship 

between 

the paper and pen

But I failed.

It was just me

inside my toolbox

But I had no ink

Yet, I tried

And wrote down

my memories

It started out fine.

But

the wave of people 

crawled under my skin

Ripping my heart away

Leaving a decayed 

Corpse of 

A Raven

Who was thought 

to change

As if 

It was a sort of magic

trick 

But never transformed

And the 

Dejection from all the conflicts;

All the Writing that I did

Became my depression

applied 

to my creations

I crossed my arms 

feeling the final

pieces divert hope 

from my body;

with blood pouring everywhere 

Replacing

the ink for my pen

So I drained myself

Without 

a reason to continue 

And I lost the battle

with the contour

But as I became 

dragged by 

the people;

I revised my corrections 

amplifying myself 

Through the idea

And noticed the rainbow 

after the 

rain.

So I trapped my fears

into my journal

Transforming them 

to medals declaring 

victory

Because even though 

my veins were crossed

The blood that poured 

Gave me my new ability;

Disguising

the madness

And at last. 

The missing flower 

out my backyard 

came back.