This pen is a pendulum
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heavily swinging its final momentum
anchored tightly, from my heart oscillating
a throb nor a tittle missing.
These strokes are heavier
my ink is blood thick
more crimson than ebony
through parchment bleeding
as the last drops flow while this pen I glide
thus starts the final cursive prance
watch as i weave my final strand of poetic utterance
remember at least, my poetry, after our last dance.
"Could you please spare me some more ink ... ..."
When you write... just write.