The PageA Poem by eaglepoetWhat is a pen or pencil? What is paper? More than just objects, they're tools.The Page My pencil, an arrow of expression. It's fine, gray, tip the connection between thought and paper. A tool breathing life into immortalized ideas. A sword slicing through what can't be seen, but felt. It's eraser, a magic wand zapping away fragments which don't mesh. A lever releasing proclamations of misunderstood spirit and soul. Misconceived lines a blueprint, tape measure gauging the distance between conception and fulfillment. Mirrors, simultaneously clear and cluttered, the writer sees the best and the worst reflecting from a single lens, panoramic. Page creases are miles of a struggle, telling a story, each one a marking, of a composite. Stray marks indicate steps walked, easily perceived as an unfriendly highway. My pencil is the ticket, gets me from point A to point Z. A pointer sets apart the narrow pathway and untraveled road. A chisel that carves away the past engraves a new future.
© 2016 eaglepoetReviews
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2 Reviews Added on August 30, 2016 Last Updated on August 30, 2016 AuthoreaglepoetCTAboutI started writing poetry when I was thirteen. That was in 2005. Since then, it has been eleven years, and I've enjoyed each of them. Free verse, rhyme, different forms. Wherever my muse leads me. .. more..Writing
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