So, day three of thirty, and here I am – ready to write a Stravinsky-esque poem.
Oh, did I hear you sigh? Do I see eyes rolling about in your head and your hands reaching for your ears?
Well, it’s just one of those nights. I’m in a great mood, I was given real coffee instead of decaf at dinner – and I have a great lyrical experiment in my head just for you.
In Love With Words
Ivory paper kisses black ink
The silver nib dances
Twirls, scrolls, pirouettes
The touch of the coarse paper
Softened, now fluid with purpose
What once was blind
Now grasps the words
Too long silenced within
Too much, too fast the paper drenched with ink
Colors black and red, green and blue,
The pores of the paper, the intensity of the pigment are no longer melody
Ink-rich words drip and blend, struggle and falter
Into a mottled, spotty discord
Of turns and twists, leaps and
The pen is spent
The paper limp and lost
What once had meaning, beauty, clarity
Is now scribbled, stilled and silenced
A written voice submerged under noise