The Wake of Writing

Eyewitness to a genesis

Creation on display

Each character’s development

With fingertips we splay

Cross section of one’s soul and heart

Dissected, quill cuts page

Inked imagination’s lark

Sings, locked in parchment’s cage

Should writing meet its death as art

It’s scarcity we’ll praise

For whence the spirit’s breath departs

The body soon decays