Image credit: kornik

Image credit: kornik

The pen is weary
All the ink run dry
Across a parchment scratches
Ideas lost in time
No new blood is drawn
From the pain of life
There are only tears
And banality
Nothing left for me

The screen is blinking
White to blind the eyes
No sound of typing
Punctuates the air
No inspiration floats
Within this dismal writer’s lair
Just dull despair

The pen once mighty
Now so brittle falls
A broken symbol
Of some long-lost day
The stuff of life
It covers like a shroud
As nuisance children
Just get in the way
With nothing left to say

(c) Helen Valentina 2015, All Rights Reserved

About Helen

I'm drawn to blogging as a way to share ideas and consider what makes us who we are. Whether it's in our working life or our creativity, expression is a means to connect.
This entry was posted in Air, Poetry and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

16 Responses to Pen

  1. philipparees says:

    If this expresses a current condition, you have a companion similarly infected!

    • Thanks Philppa, it was true at the time I wrote it which was a while ago, but its probably no so far from the truth now! I find my writing comes in fits and bursts sometimes! I hope if you are infected with this at the moment that it lessens soon! 🙂

  2. Len Freeman says:

    Oh Helen you sound so depressed—-hope it’s just a bad day

  3. NOOOOOOOO *hands on head running out the door* Excellent.

  4. Funny how we have spasms write or not to write… That is the …. Glad you’re back on track H.

  5. I still often prefer pens over modern typing machines with flashy screens and all. Here’s a nice poem on pens Keep on blogging in a free world – The False Prophet

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