The Ink Can Dry

All we want is that perfect rhythm
To write that smooth rhyme
To pour the soul into the letters
To release excitement out in a pen
To have one letter build upon the other
Until we have the perfect, epic tale
Of our own story overturning our maybe mediocre lives. 

But sometimes in the rush to write the climax
To unravel all our tales' loose ends
We lose site of the hidden vowels
And miss the beauty in the scribbled notes

Poetry is messy and life is a riddle
But these stanzas can be read at their own pace
Sometimes the crescendo must be muted
So the ink can dry and we can be at rest. 

-- Written by Sandy Heights 
Image by <a href=";utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_campaign=image&amp;utm_content=761653">Lucia Grzeskiewicz</a> from <a href=";utm_medium=referral&amp;utm_campaign=image&amp;utm_content=761653">Pixabay</a>

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