Nature

Don't know,
where the words come from...
How they tell stories,
of known to unknown...
How the aching soul,
pours out of bloody ink...
From whom they derive,
the essence of life...
And the why the paper;
feels the scratches of,
love and hate...
Yet it is thirsty of showers;
of touch of writing hand;
of rolls of pen.
An uncanny hunger!