The River Poem by bryan wallace

A light scratching sound,
Breaks the silence as
The nib of my pen
Glides swiftly across the page
Gracefully gliding with the poise
Of an ice-skater dancing on ice.
The light blue ink
Flows forth, gently at first
Pouring smoothly from pen to paper.

The pen sits snug
Between my finger and my thumb -
An extension of me -
Controlled not my conscience
But controlled by my inner-most thoughts,
Which flow from me, to be
Released from the overflowing
Dam at the back of my mind.

The sluice-gates are open
This now fast-flowing river of ink
Flows fast, cleansing my mind and soul.