The Celestial Inkwell The ink begins to flow like night, A steady stream of dark and deep, While overhead, the silver light Awakens from its ancient sleep. The silence hums a hollow tune, The shadows stretch across the floor, Guided by a watchful moon That waits outside my study door. For every word that finds its place, A distant fire begins to glow, Carving paths through empty space To mirror thoughts that surge and flow. The heavy world may fade from sight, Its chaos dulled to softest gray, For stars shine bright when I write, And turn the midnight into day.