The ink that stains my fingers,
baptizes my writing.
With every stroke of my pen,
a confession marks the paper.
My faith in words has been restored.
YOU ARE READING
The Odd Poet
PoetryA poetry collection of another human being, however odd it may be.
Notebook Church
The ink that stains my fingers,
baptizes my writing.
With every stroke of my pen,
a confession marks the paper.
My faith in words has been restored.