ENDLESS PAGES

The ink bleeds onto these endless pages.

He is spilling on the lines, soaking the paper with his mind.

But he knows, they will open to others,

Places no one has yet to go.

It consumes him night and day, heart and soul.

He cannot stop; the words keep coming.

They swim in his mind until their release.

Not until it is finished,

Will the writer ever find his peace.

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