Day 161: Invisible Ink

When we were kids, writing in invisible ink was a new thing, something that involved just knowing to use lemon juice to write messages which magically appeared when held near the flame. Though the concept was fairly simple, it led me to think about unformed , unwritten poetry, whether there is a draft version of these in our heads somewhere which are written in invisible ink. They are thoughts and memories on which we may draw upon, things that might inspire us. For the moment between it is sought for in your memory and the moment it is transformed into writings or poetry, it is written in a million drafts in your head , in invisible ink.We are strange in this way, we are trapped in writings we can't always read, our mind picks and chooses the ones we sometimes get to see.

Invisible Ink
Things that are retained in the back of your mind
Are still the hardest ones to look for, even harder to find
And some that draw you close, and to the brink
Are feelings and thoughts in your mind, written in invisible ink

Summer draws to a warm days close, with rain at my window pane
Catching the drafts of the day as it goes by every single day
Some are expressed in hard words, some are kept just too close
Some are chased down the memory lane, and some just froze.

Poetry is often written in invisible ink, with thoughts first from the mind
And with those who have lead us on, to some places that are hard to find
Yet you draw what you can remember from memory
And in between the meanings, you piece together a story

Some are louder than others, some are often unheard
Burdened sometimes at best, and looking at a loss of words
We are writers of many tales, we are shade on a summer day
I write my stories in invisible ink, and in your memories to stay.