Writing in the dark

When a pen became a path

The pride was drawn out in inspiration,

Slow assurance that allowed questions
To knock harder

At the doors of thought.

Close friends emphasized while family drew curiosity that played

On the morning plate of my intellect

Although many would only pretend to understand,

Asking the vague questions that were

Only half answered.

Gradually I became afraid to walk without it;

The sun traced a new inspiration,

or insurance just in case the mark was missed somehow.

A harsh reality became nothing more than a spot to ink in,

Bending where the pen never broke as the tip of the new day appeared.

Sleep now an annoyance blocking out the truth.

Every place became a new canvas

While my bad days played a backdrop to ease the eyes to what life has become.

The tube faded in color

And lost its appeal.

At times the reality is

That this is a peculiar gift,

And it is to be handled with great critique

Falling off a invisible cliff.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

my family was curious only in that they didn't understand my pen...and felt i was falling off of some cliff that was beyond their comprehension---my dad said it was a hobby and not to take it too seriously ...

they thought me peculiar...is it only that poets understand poets?

very likely.