Quill and Flame

I.

A molten twilight ink drips
across my most longing parchment—
each word fragile as an ember
glowing with untold tales.

II.

My quill trembles in my fingers,
a poetic bird on the cusp of song,
plumage dipped in a black river
of all my unwritten desires.

III.

At the edge of thought flames flicker,
a tango of shadow and light,
folds into the curling smoke
where dream and memory entwine.

IV.

I tread between quill and flame,
a pilgrim on a soulful quest,
bathed in the light of revelation
lulled by the hush of the unspoken.

V.

Urged by the soft hiss of the candle wick,
this teasing scratch of tip on page,
in a communion older than breath,
an exhale beyond even death.

VI.

Letting fire kiss each spill of ink,
let the quill teach the blaze its gentle touch,
until poetry and burnt ash merge,
into an indelible glow of verity.