Between The Pages

I open the cover of a brand new journal,
bound in crisp black leather,
and not the cheap stuff either.
My name scrawled inside, my territory marked.
The smell of fresh paper wafts from the pages,
beckoning me to spill my memories upon them in ink.

I open the book inside my soul,
bound in crisp, profound thought,
a promise of new writings to come.
My inspiration revealed, my desires portrayed.
The scratch of pen nib drags across the pages,
spilling my memories upon the pages in ink.