Poetic Inkwells and More

A Lighthearted Poem about Love:)      by Clara Mitchell 11/23/2024 I fill my inkwells as often as I water my plants. Both need my attention to live and grow. My quill rests between stanzas and words. A new thought lifts the quill to find the inkwell. The quill at one time provided hours of writing. One molted feather still in flight as words appear on the page. The black ink is bold and cold. I hope to make up for this loss with colorful words.  The ink remains a constant black that easily stands out on my paper. The dark ink cloaks my words, While the colored ink gives rise to be seen. I add several splashes of color across the page. In the end, the colors do not carry the poem. Readers embrace the words. The first stanzas words are like a melody Of words that lead us into a dance. Our hearts pound and skip a beat. Yes, we all can fall in love with words. Cupid has arrows. A poet has words. Either way, love has made a way.

  A Second Wind As I intercede in prayer, These words come to me-- The Body of Christ needs A Second Wind. Suddenly like a Wind, I blow my breath into the air- I blow away fear, weakness, Grief, loss, anxiety and more. My breath blows away the dead things. Things that cannot serve God's children. Until the time of Rapture, I must blow out the firery darts. Breathing out of breath so it seems, Then comes the Second Wind. At once I am moving with speed, Laying aside the heavy weight of sin That so easily besets God's children. (Hebrews 12:1) I catch my breath again, Now blowing away unbelief. In one last gust of breath, I am racing in freedom.