Ts Lewis Poet Prose

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

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