The human soul is most real when materialized by words

When painted in black ink between the pages of a book

When its silhouette is formed by a passionate lover

When wisdom wonders where it's origins lie


When a traveler compares its long and arduous journey to his own


What depth and beauty that cannot be captured by paint and charcoal alone

     is captured easily by the written word

What silver hues and sunlight yellows and orangish glows

     can describe the beauty and tranquility of a soul lived long and old?


It is only in ink can we describe the depth of the soul

In ink alone lies the mellow, calming glow of its silhouette

In ink alone, a soul lived many lifetimes, and watched the world roll

     through each era

Has witnessed blood, and death, and loss, and love


Things that hold no depth in watercolors

     that hold no weight in chalk

          that show so dimly on canvas

INK, with its deep words and sorrowful tones, mournful colors, and old tongues

Gleams more brightly than the purple and orange hues of cathedral glass


The soul, weaved and sewn and displayed like bright feathers

     by the fingers of a lover to his beloved

A poem, as a blueprint to his very existence

A sample of who he IS and who he wants to be

     in INK


Ink ALONE, is the medium for the depiction of the spirit

The description of feeling

For the materialzation of the human soul,

     which seems most real when painted in black ink between the pages of a book.






I wrote this poem in response to the scholarship question about my dream job. I couldn't think of any other way of depicting how I feel about writing or about English. My DREAM JOB is to spend the rest of my life in a college setting as an English professor. I'd love to teach creative writing, but anything to do with language would suit me just fine. I... LOVE the written word. I believe that the written word is one of the most beautiful artforms that we can create.

I began to write in grade school. I've always had soem difficulty speaking. I stumble over my words even as an adult, but it was much worse when I was a child. Because of my difficulties forming sentences, I refrained from talking much, and became a bit of a recluse--- an outcast. I found my voice in poetry and short stories.... in ink. 

Looking around me now, I realize that writting and creating something that is TRULY yours, has become less popular. I would like to remind the next few generations how satisfying and stimulating it is to WRITE! I'd like to teach them the joy of baring your very soul in every word that you know --- creating a combination that is who you are, whether anyone likes it or not.




Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741