The Pen
THE PEN.
As I put my Pen to paper,
My mind begins to transcend its earthly bounds,
into realms , far greater than presence alone,
Reality but a state of being.
As transcidity, slowly takes me ,
my thoughts alight from there rationality,
they gently flow, into the Seas of quiddity,
A place where thoughts are immersed,
expanded, kneaded, cleansed,
and allowed to flow freely, amongst the others.
Here the currents turn , the tide ebbs ,
and all things come together,
and as a wave comes to shore, there to comes ,
“ Inspiration “
this thing, that runs from my pen , and flows to paper ,
such are my thoughts,
there complexity beyond any comprehension,
or so they seem.
So as I sit here and write, so am I written,
my very being, transcribed
I am layed open, a page written,
that but of another chapter,
each a part of the whole story ,
as yet , A story without end,
for thoughts are infinite, my life but yet begun.
My Pen , hungry for the paper,
this simple but beautiful implement,
that allows my self expression to emerge,
this wich allows my thoughts to converge,
this wich can allow my mind to be purged .
So as I lay my Pen down , and take time to think,
I pray,
Dear God,
please dont let them run out of ink.
Clement Hardy.
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