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


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

    this is wonderful, brad. as you know, I’m a huge fan of the tools we use for writing and your poem connects them to our lives so well.

  2. sudrakarma says:

    Now our thoughts become ephemera; a series of ones and zeros – not even “real” ones and zeros but the “GUI” representations of countless “ons” and “offs” – stored at somebody else’s expense. Ha ha ; )

    Good morning, Brad.

  3. K.L. Hale says:

    Always sharpening, always improving, we are more than the graphite left behind…beautiful, Brad. Thank you! 🥰🤗

  4. Brad, no doubt in my mind that we are nothing left behind, we are always moving forward, far more than a mere thing like graphite, ink, stone…

  5. kristianw84 says:

    This is so beautiful, Brad! I love the metaphors. Well done, as always.

  6. jonicaggiano says:

    Lovely piece Brad. I think my work will be read when I am gone by someone. It might just be my daughter and grandchildren. My spirit will live for an eternity though. Sending big hugs 🤗 Jonikins

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