072. My Black Ink

It has been quite some time,

since my words flowed with ink,

upon a serene emptiness.

It forces my mind to think.

I paint the canvas

black and white,

but only the black shows.

Not the light,

but only the darkness.

On a wintry night, 

I paint the snow

with black ink.

It matches the dark,

and blends right in.

My black ink,

it grows too thin.

Once daylight arrives,

My black ink...

shall reveal a red

upon the white 

landscape,

as I lay beside it:

My black ink,

my only friend,

until the very end.