The Drunken Pen
The drunken pen knows no boundaries, flowing from one page to the next, one idea to the next never stopping too long in one place. It longs to write fluffy, flowery, big descriptive words that require a dictionary and thesaurus to understand but instead it produces only bite size words of reality. Flares of genius arise to be suddenly dashed by memory loss and distraction, leaving behind inferior pieces of work. One day this pen will rise above forced rhymes, poor punctuation and every other criticism that can be bestowed upon writing and a masterpiece will evolve. And what exactly is a masterpiece. What is beautiful to me may seem otherwise to many. Looking at wilted lilies I yearn to grab a brush and paint the white petals and bright orange stamens as well as the deformed ones that have turned brown. My pen can capture the same image only it struggles to describe a reality that seems boring, beauty missed in the imagery. Expressing important aspects of subjects is my main goal but my pen often fails me. Knowing many truths, my pen and paper struggle to hold the facts - is this because many will not wish to hear them. My pen fears judgement. Can a scientific mind scribe poetic or will a drunken pen be blamed for imperfection.
Written October 2, 2012
For Joann Grisetti’s contest
“Drunken Pen Part 2”
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