Pens and quills everywhere, <br />but not a dropp of ink. <br />Paper stacked in 9 foot piles, <br />mankind on the brink. <br />Teardrops falling down like rain, <br />not a sound is heard. <br />The Saint again must slash himself, <br />and write in blood his words. <br />It up to him to bring forth calm, <br />with his soothing letters. <br />Its up to him to make things write, <br />cause no one does it better. <br />Tis a curse inside he knows, <br />but its up to him to share. <br />The words that make us all believe, <br />as we read that someone cares. <br />Paper stacked in 9 foot piles, <br />pens and quills are everywhere.<br /><br />saint cynosure ( Ken Bennight )<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/not-a-drop-of-ink/
