Why are my pencils always gone?
The moment I set one down, it’s flown
I desperately scribble with pen, marker, crayon
Whatever I can get my grubby hands on
No matter what writing implement I’ve found
A tiny writer emerges from the walls
Scavenging supplies for their own little scrawls
✍️🖋️✏️🖌️🧚
I set up more and more elaborate seductions
Treats and sweets, cool drinks, and shiny trinkets
Yet, all they seem to want are
My various writing implements
✍️🖋️✏️🖌️🧚
Inked, chalked, oiled, or paint-tipped
any medium is fair in our endless raiding game
I sit for hours ready and waiting
Yet, only if I dare to glance away
Or should eyelids snap shut heavily
Do they foray from their many hiding spaces
✍️🖋️✏️🖌️🧚
If I start on some flowery poetry
Setting my gel pen in the grass to think
I may find a lucky clover in place of my
Green sparkly wand of worldliness
Any and all attempts at inkpen retrieval
Will always end in outright upheaval
I have invested more in ink than the cost
I’ve spent on decorating my house
✍️🖋️✏️🖌️🧚
Why, if I didn’t know better
I might start to think that these
Miniature enemies must be using
Them for building materials
Or to equip a great army
No, the tiny creatures I am up against
Must be writing frantically,
On the inside of the walls,
The bottoms of the floorboards, the pipes,
Anything we people might miss.
✍️🖋️✏️🖌️🧚
I suspect they write novels
At night, and feed them in my ears
They inscribe them one letter at a time
painted onto a grain of rice
Passing them chain link style
I always wake with an itch where I hear
As I shake my head about
Expecting to see letters pour out
Just a kink in my neck appears
✍️🖋️✏️🖌️🧚
I head back to my favorite spot
Ideas flow from my pen
There, they were at it again
Those writers in the walls
As soon as I stopped to marvel
At the miraculous flow bestowed upon me
They grab their sacrificial offering
They accept both supplication and recompense
K.B. Silver
About the Creator
K.B. Silver
K.B. Silver has poems published in magazine Wishbone Words, and lit journals: Sheepshead Review, New Note Poetry, Twisted Vine, Avant Appa[achia, Plants and Poetry, recordings in Stanza Cannon, and pieces in Wingless Dreamer anthologies.
Keep reading
More stories from K.B. Silver and writers in Fiction and other communities.
CH 20~ Party Down
Argento’s ninth (eighteenth in earth years) Birthday came and went Thursday, the thirteenth, and he’d already received his father’s gift, if you could call it that. You had to commit a fairly serious infraction to be cut off; the Arch-Baron was keeping up appearances and maintaining his own reputation as much as any sense of love or attachment to Argento with his “gift.”
By K.B. Silver Exclusive • 9 days ago
Comments (1)
"writers in the walls"....I like that imagery. I could ponder it for a while. So many possibilities 😄