Purity In Essence

God whispers poetry in my ear
And I open forth an inky vein
I say inky because I release it in black
And sometimes blues
It's everything from my ruse to prove
That I'm as normal and happy as
A moon shining over a pair of lovers
But the ink spills over most of the time
While it flows and seeps into the fibers of whiteness
I'm really making crop circles in secret
Crop circles filled with messages to people
People who only see the crops being cut all the time
Always out of season
Too early
Or too late
And the ink continues to flow from God's mouth
Through my ears and into my brain
Then out my eyes
And that's usually when it turns blue
Sometimes it comes out of my mouth in sticky black
Causing ink to soak everyone
But they are not touched by the poetry that God tells me
They have stoppered their ears so the ink evades them
So I keep my ruse for those with gobstoppers in their ears
They can be terrified by my crop circles
Writing letters to myself may seem absurd
Still it's all I have to remind me
That sometimes the ink must be crossed with red
God does not give me this red
But He shows it to me with short and simple words
I keep these invisible words to myself
For they are the most precious and easiest to lose
And I shall continue to put forth the black and blue
To make room for more invisible words
Then I can one day write and be
Not black
Not blue
But clean