The Analysis Of Ink In A Glass Poem by Evon Christian

As I had finished writing poetry with a calligraphy pen, I held it haphazardly over a translucent glass. A tiny driblet of ink sinuously slid off the pen tip and into the liquid. I watched the dropp permeate the water with whirling motions until the uppermost portion of the water was occupied with ink. At that time, a thousand tiny droplets depressed towards the bottom of the glass like anguished souls. The color was now a solid, sullen black....

With wide-spread eyes
I saw the ink drip into purity
Ripping the crevice of my very heart
And pouring in sweet bitterness-
A sickness without remedy

Verily I remembered then
The hand which held the pen
That lacerated my frangible soul
Being my very own
(In a pit of self-destruction
I inattentively dived in)

My black heart beats
To taint my systematic veins
Transparent through my skin
The very thing which offered life
Now aides in my demise

Like a glass
I am, I am
Oh, heart!
You are likewise.