By candlelight I’ll work my ink to words,
To sentences, to paragraphs and more.
By sunlight I will strike my work with swords,
Be rid of words unwelcome at my door.
And so the evil ‘very’ takes his flight.
Despite my love for him, he is impure.
Nothing becomes perfect without a fight.
If I can reach perfection I’m not sure.
As beauty remains a personal thing,
I’ll live and love with words wrapped around me.
To wonder what my loss and luck will bring.
I’m sailing on an inky wordful sea.
And if our paths are fated to collide
I hope our poems also coincide.