The Ink

Writing first begins
When you finally dare 
To learn to dream.
There is beauty behind the
Staring face of a blank canvas 
As the writer enters into 
A new world which is not 
His own. 
We are the faceless warriors
A pen, rather than the sword. 
We have all shared in the pain
And fought in battles
We never knew existed.
Yet we are still able 
To create beauty in darkness. 
There is great inspiration 
Shown through tears. 
In a world we do not belong
We create, give birth
To new life,
Only to not feel so alone,
While we realize the 
True monsters are not in books. 
We belong to them
And they belong to us. 
We are artists without a brush
Nor canvas.
We are that what we create.
We are the ink.