The Pen, the Idea, the Poet
The pen lies still, its soul asleep,
A vessel of thoughts the mind must keep.
An idea stirs, a spark, a flame,
A whisper calling the poet’s name.
The pen awakens, poised to glide,
Across the page where dreams collide.
Ink flows freely, a river in part,
Guided by the poet’s heart.
The idea dances, shapeless, free,
Until the poet bends its knee.
Through twists of words, it takes its form,
A quiet calm, or a raging storm.
But is it the pen, or the poet’s will,
That breathes life into the visions still?
Or is it the idea, timeless, vast,
A gift from the present, born of the past?
Together they weave what cannot stray—
The pen, the poet, and the idea’s sway.
Its end result a work of poetical art,
Words born from a true poet’s tender heart
About the Creator
Marie381Uk
I've been writing poetry since the age of fourteen. With pen in hand, I wander through realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals hidden thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture your mind❤️
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Comments (2)
To me this describes all writers from poets, novelists and even songwriters and everyone that works with words in some way. Good work.
Wonderful description of poetic creation