13 thoughts on “Creation

  1. This pen
    blown by the wind
    Dances the virgin page
    Inky traces upon the face
    of the fresh fallen snow

    This pen
    Moving of its own volition
    Not unlike on of those
    computer animations
    Just the slightest arc
    Where the nib bites the paper

    This pen . . .
    Not unlike a silent
    silver dust devil
    dancing a dervish

    Who has taught it this dance?
    Who has taught this page
    this thin paper page
    to hold
    Against all distraction
    to hold
    Against all strife
    to hold till breaking
    or burning
    or rain . .
    To hold till Death do us . . .

    Silent at last
    The pen at rest
    In the alabaster arms
    of the snowy page

    Liked by 1 person

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