What lies within the gates of creativity

That vien’t with placid-like passivity?

Such worlds to be permeated in ink

With Earths and players lined to speak the speech

The pen predicts in passion’s potent link.

The hand directs the urge to climaxed edges

Where love and hate may meet in poetry;

In prose; in ink; and so be loved alleged

By lovers of the ink, like I and thee.

What fever furtively retains the hand of hearts?

The cards of rhyme are played so as to teach

The soul of minds the blood and ink apart.

Temerity of blackness coats mine eye

So humbleness may be a written dye.

Original Image

  Check out my YouTube channel! I make create stories on there as well and tell them in a different type of format: Mr. X


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