It wants to appear on the scroll
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I look for the magic keyhole
With fingers of meager control,
Opening to a page incomplete.
From my blood-filled cartridge
To the bottom of a pen point,
I narrowly miss the vestige
Of my thought’s passage,
Hoping the two will be conjoint.
I fill the page with verse,
But my eyes smudge the lines;
If only life were in reverse
I could understand the curse,
And follow the sign.
When your mind is quiet,
And you pause -- pause to think
From the well within your spirit,
The Truth will illuminate,
As you write with invisible ink.
