maelynslavik

Breeze ruffles

Through frills of grass,

Little green blades

Getting trampled again

And again,

Still rooted

In the soil,

I walk past a wall of pictures, 

Some bright, 

Some black and white, 

Some dull but still rich, 

Paper crinkled, 

Wrinkled from the fast-paced 

Rain of time, 

Mist still lingers,

Weighting the world,

Each droplet, each dewdrop,

Catching in the sun,

Refracting each ray,

But not quite like the sky,

A clover rests on my page,

Its stem proud and strong,

Its petals crooked

To prove its reality,

It’s color green,

So beautiful,

Inspiration 

Is such a delicate thing, 

Such an intricate dance 

Between emotions and ideas, 

A soft sparkle 

I want to hold 

Both a pen and a sword, 

To find struggle within my words, 

To make pain drip from the ink, 

Trickling onto my palms,