My Pen Has a Voice
From the Inkwell Spring of Life
My pen was eavesdropping
On the dripping rain
From the eaves of the house
Of pleasure and pain:
It hears the voice silence,
And tells it to the noise.
A noise as silent as the light
That flashes the lightening,
And echoes the thunderstorm
For the weeping cloud
To make Sahara rejoice
Like the rainforest of Amazon.
My pen is the voice
That eclipse the silent night
With the utterance the life
That makes a dead seed bud
Into a morning glory flower
In the sight of the rising sun.
My pen has a voice,
It crows like a cockerel
At the break of dawn.
My pen has eyes like an owl,
It sees all of nightfall
Far away from the setting sun.
My humble quill pen
With peacock feathers
And eagle's vision.
On the height of eagle's wings
It spread words of wisdom
To the very depth of dolphin's fins.
My pen wrote the lyrics
To the Nightingale's
Songs of Creation.
My pen moves her feet,
Dancing on my fingertips
To the rhythm of your heartbeat.
About the Creator
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Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts6 days ago in Longevity
Comments (2)
Lovely!! So creative and unusual. I liked this: It crows like a cockerel At the break of dawn. My pen has eyes like an owl, It sees all of nightfall
I love the poem it's very fascinating.