Ahh, you have returned to me at last. Welcome!
For I waited, not knowing if the day would come
Oh this warmth is most sublime, you poor soul
Come take
Waiting Pen
Hidden Truth
What’s there to say when all has been said?
There’s always more to write till you’re dead
Endless is the expression of a human in paper
They ask you to
Refine
How do I feel? What a question to ask,
Like taking a job, not knowing the task
It remains a hidden mystery within
A straight line made out of a
Pen and Ink
My pen, burning with words, ink.
Ideas go into my mind then sink.
If you’re a poet, then write and just write,
Until your fingers blacken, like frost-bite!