As the mind dreams.
And the ink seeps
From the pen.
Seemingly by the hand of god
The pen, sweeps and curls
And wisps and whirls
Writing knowledge
I do not know.
Most of it garbage,
But the meaning is there.
Hidden amongst the endless black.
The light of knowledge
Just a tiny speck.
The words form a picture
No mans eye can see.
But the soul is accustomed
To seeing.
And it looks on in awe,
As words spill from the pen.
And the minds possibilities
Are endless again.
And the knowledge is there
Amongst the black.
The knowledge that the soul can see,
And speak and write
But I know these things
Before I picked up the pen
That spills words across the page.
I knew and I said
I want that knowledge.
I want to see the soul.
And the soul said
�You will be damned,
Like all the men before you�
And I replied
�Damn me�
If I am damned
Then so be it.
The ink will still spill
Across the page
And I will know
The soul.
Richard