The Wandering Pen

The Wandering Pen

Pen is poised
Will the words come?
My heart is racing
like a drum

The beating
throbs inside my head
Aghast, I wonder
is my creativity dead?

Whirling and reeling
My mind tugs and twists
Just let go
No longer resist

Let go of what?
I retort madly
There’s nothing as frustrating
As doing really badly

What to do now?
I wonder aloud
In stillness I sit
Not feeling too proud

But look, I see
My poised pen has wandered
And written a prose
I never pondered!

By Fruitbat

4 thoughts on “The Wandering Pen

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