The Master born before the purple pen,

The ink my blood and flowing through my veins.

My mind is Heaven, heart is passion-coursed.

My soul has merged with ancient writings forced

Into my eyes, brought forth from aching pain,

And carried out by will, now and again.

Defeated spirits sigh at sight of words

I’ve written. Fingers are ink-covered, black

Over the brown and red upon the tips.

Imagination races, vivid sips

Of bountiful lakes holding words the others lack;

The freedom flies, created lives occurred.

No other conquers ink like I, nor ever

Will they, no matter how hard they endeavor.

Original Image


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