Pen in Mind

I do not write in ink anymore,

For no other reason than my hand

Is not as quick as my brain,

The words drop the same, only some,

Slip away,

Back into the Ether,

Perhaps where they belong.

 

My hand is tired

Of expressions unwritten.

 

My mind is alive

With centuries old knowledge,

Millennia in fact.

What am I to do?

 

Duteous recorder of ancient wisdom,

Words,

Aflame with possibility

Interred within these phrases

Once more come to life.

 

I say I do not write in ink,

But that is a half truth,

As the words written in this book

Demonstrate,

Just not often.

 

SDM

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