No. 2


It is the permanence of ink

The stain upon parchment

Iron gull faded to brown

Good witness to every writer’s dreams


Our treasured metaphor

Images of hand-written beauty

The calligraphy of emotions

Our scriptured script of life


The pen the mighty source

Of wisdom wrapped in words

And our lives are drawn in detail

With the perfect cursive flair


But our spirit animal it is not

We are but a penciled scrawl

Life constant in its sharpening

Renewing the point of our days


A hasty blocked print

Dusted in the crumbs of erasure

Mistakes obvious and expected

Always a chance to improve


It is only in our minds

In our far-flung hopes and dreams

That our words are more

Than the graphite left behind


13 Responses to “No. 2”
  1. beth says:

    I love this metaphor and yes, most thing in life are pencil, not pen

  2. Jim Borden says:

    I like the analogy as well; we can always change what we are doing.

    Your poem made me think of a question – do you write your poems first by hand and then type them, or do you create them directly on your computer?

  3. My dearest poet, your words are definitely more than that 🌹🤗. They are splendid and meaningful. They stay with the reader.

  4. Francisco Bravo Cabrera says:

    A great metaphor Brad and a very profound and lovely work!

  5. Harley Reborn says:

    My life is written in ink with a quill. Or magic marker.

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