Ink means blood

To actually write,
to swing and fight,
to empty the heart of its fire

is to take up a pen,
to face fear in its den,
and punch out the teeth of a liar



This is something I quickly scribbled in my notebook in September last year. I added the title and one small tweak today.


The trees say slow.

The birds say slow.

The flowers say slow.

Even the word on the road says ‘slow’.

But we go about our business,