Words, Wards, and Swords

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.

3 thoughts on “Words, Wards, and Swords

  1. 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.

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