I poured ink onto a page this morning,
A Tyrian purple, from empires of old
For the fine silks chosen heirs are born in
And heavy crowns only the worthy may hold.
I poured ink onto a page this morning
A crimson red, like a splatter of blood
For ruthless battles and fires burning
As death looms and graves wait to be dug.
I poured ink onto a page this morning,
A cerulean blue, like the depths of the sea
For spilled tears and lonely hearts drowning
In a grief that refuses to let them free.
I poured ink onto a page this morning,
An obsidian black, like a night without stars
For every hope lost, every heart in mourning,
Every fallen hero the poets will never sing about.
I poured ink onto a page this morning,
A viridian green, like nature coming to life
For hope reborn and a new beginning
For weary souls that endured a too-long strife.
I poured ink onto a page this morning,
A blossom pink, like a child’s blush of glee,
For a love that heals and dreams soaring,
For a future in which all can believe.
I poured ink onto a page this morning
In every color flowing through my heart;
For every new tale, rising and growing,
Giving life to a sprout of art.
