Pen Moves

Seems like a decade When it has only been three years. The old me fades and falsifies The toddler me cries still learning to accept words I trip over. Everyday I'm amazed how small things become large Did space expand from a single pinpointed origin? Was there light then came night? Miss the days I could articulate my speculations, recite elation and didn't stumble from jubilation What if God's pen was just the introduction of one black dot on white space and He's still in hesitation envisioning a word He is thinking And that spot became space and the sporadic stars trap inside that expanding black ink are trace elements revealing how long God has been thinking before speaking? And the contact of ink on paper became the existence of living. Tomorrow I turn three Veterans day has become the perfect opportunity to reflect knowing free stuff doesn't mean much if you cannot speak the morning after. Much of my life has been focused on tomorrow's affairs so I had to capitalized on today Show you the tip of my thinking because my tongue be tripping But still able to birth a word or two