Reservoirs

In the pen,

reservoirs of blood and reason,

sheathed the sword,

woven, covert shroud and hate-paled mask,

Fight the fight

with the ink that flows, risks treason,

drips and drops of love

from reservoirs to task.

Turn the tides

as moonbeams in the ether

on golden pond a liquid glow

from crimson ink,

Reverse the falls,

fill channels, churn the waters,

from reservoirs of pens 

filled to the brink.

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