I am pen deep in the deep end.
My mind is liquid conundrums
flowing over rocks in a shallow stream.
My feet are tender on Sahara sand.
I wander into a mind field
hoping to detonate thoughts.
I long to hear shattering glass
and smell quotation marks.
I am pen deep in the deep end.
Scrawling silent sound bites,
slopped syllabled platitudes,
and bumper sticker shock speak.
Always searching for the edge,
but not standing too close.
Is this implement mightier?
If I raise it, will it be erased?
I am pen deep in the deep end,
journaling in all caps and exclamation.
Doodling, leaning on the sidebar soul.
Leaving it lay open, open.
Oh pen, where art thy inklings found?
I surmise from where thoughts arise.
I accuse the muse and light a fuse,
and lay my weapon down.
Another beautifully and beautiful poem.
Beautifully written.
Somehow this brings to mind Simon and Garfunkel “Sounds of Silence” line…
“But my words like silent raindrops fell
And echoed in the wells of silence”
The results of (ink) wells do not interfere with the power that words can have through silent meditation.