The Dream of Ink & Paper

I dream of ink and paper.

Those black dots for measures, sentences, and rhymes.

I dream of novels and characters whom are eager to play.

They trample my head with incentives and scenes.

I feel them as almost human.

I see them through a mirror.

There are days where they come to me.

There are days where they are lost to me.

I'm so easily connected by their recordings.

Subtle tongues and conversations, thoughts and memories.

I dream of ink and paper.

Where my world is Dickinson, Wilde, and Rowling.

As vast as a sea of ink, as blank as a paper canvas.

I live in a world of ink and paper.

For without it, I cease to be.