Books, Blogs and Butterflies

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.