SEA OF INK
H. W. Bryce
They ask me, why do I write?
I tell them this:
I write because I have been thrown
Into the Sea of Ink,
And life becomes a case of write
Or sink.
The choice is mine and I choose life,
And so I swim in rhythmic strokes,
Four iambic feet upon the sea,
And breathe, four iambic feet
Upon the sea, and…
Strike eight beat to the bar.
I rest a beat and swim to beat
The flowing tide of ink,
I challenge the stream,
I float upon the flow
Of the treble clef of life
To keep myself sane.
I count the measures of a bar
And swim to carry on the tune.
And when I tire of that metronome,
I thrash about like a drumming riff,
And to reach the shore, I drift
A bit to breast stroke a bridge
And aim for a ridge, a place to plant
My feet upon a triumphal beach.
And fatigue becomes a fuge.
And when the strain gets too much
It becomes a refrain, just to keep in touch
And I float along with the sea of ink;
There is so much inspiration here to drink.
I float upon my back to change the pace
And I absorb the ink of life from out the sea
And let it flow throughout my veins,
And I write because I live,
And once I write, I feel compelled to give.
And that, my friend is why I write.
