I Write...

Because it's late in the evening,
And there's a hush that pervades,
A hush both rare and unsullied.
And in this hush, I find a calm,
That seeps into my fingers and bones,
stimulating every nerve and pulse,
injecting in them a quiet, immense force,
Only to be relieved by the tapping and churning
Of whirring thoughts and emotions,
That ask, that beg,
to be thrust upon the clear purity of an empty slate,
Where meanings and symbols collide,
Where even the thickest of spaces is diffused
With the pink blush of words so soft,
With the jagged teeth of words so harsh,
With the slimy melancholy of words so somber,
Words, whose only wish is to be understood,
The wish of so many others before them.