To all these things,
my words escape.
In this ink,
and to relate.
In this ink,
another dying pen too.
Is this how it gets to you?
Let it out, or do not part.
In this ink, make a mark.
To all these things,
there is no start.
To where begin,
escapes within.
All this ink pours,
letting it out.
Till there is no more.
Jessie Jett
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ink-23/
