(0)pity The Pen Poem by Sailing to windward
(0)pity The Pen
The temple siren calls, deep within his walls,
stirring in his isolation, a need for expression and creation.
Reaching for notelets, grabbing at memorets and pigeon holes,
his hands slide and his memory glides,
to form his thoughts and sweetly coat the pill of say.
Curing the world with understanding and wonderment,
at his latest worldmail communiqué.
He writes! He writes!
No more.
His pen tumbles, silent,to the floor.
Words spent.
still bent,
not even close,
to those he meant.
This knocked my socks off. I'll bet there isn't a single person on this site who couldn't relate to this one. The last stanza in particular is brilliant. t x
I am glad you have again answered the temple siren's call. Your poems have both sweetly coated and uncoated the pill of say for me. Poems sometimes seem always a work-in-progress for the poet - -'not even close, \to those he meant.' Keep picking up and re-dipping your pen for your readers. Tom
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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9/13/2024 12:31:15 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Eloquently penned with a wonderful flow and control of pace...the opening line grabbed me and I was hooked from the first to the last line...your words certainly resonated with me... j.