Ink Against the Dark
Bethel Ineke@bethelineke908201
7 days ago
My inks are running dry,
Each drop a bleeding emotion.
With hope and sacrifice I try
To keep this flame in motion.
How can one stay silent
When rot seeps through the land?
How be a saint
When evil falls like sand?
When tyranny takes the throne,
The soil drinks bitter tears.
Justice turns to stone,
And silence fans our fears.
Elders twist truth and bend the law,
Their palms lined with gilded gleam.
They swallow greed without a flaw,
Yet wear their lies as sacred theme.
Yet still, my pen must fight,
Even when the well runs bare.
For truth is forged in night,
And dawn will find us there.
I write for those unheard,
Whose voices choke on smoke.
Each word a sharpened sword,
Each line a whispered hope.
The shadows gather thick,
But ink can pierce the veil.
No lie too deep to stick,
No story doomed to fail.
So let my hand tremble not,
Though darkness presses near.
For every drop I blot
Lights the path through fear.
And when the world grows cold,
And tyrants claim the day,
My ink will strike the bold,
And chase the dark away.
© Ineke BSC
1 day ago
