pens are made to
get lost
like thoughts
not recovered for years
or days
spent dreaming
and scheming
and no one notices
til it’s time
to write a note
or recap a life
in song
or words
once at the
fingertips
now stored away
slipped between
the packets of photographs
in a box in the attic
or lives
lived alone
amongst the
myriad others
boiling, toiling
roiling crowds
all for a moment
of sunlight
not knowing the source is within.
Wow. Did I say pens?
I meant, uh, penguins
or penelope
the one over there
in the polka dot dress
not you or me
we’re somewhat
more permanent,
aren’t we?
About Me
- mentlD
- Hi, I'm D, and I'm a Recovering Christian. I was raised Catholic, became a Born-again Charismatic, then a strict fundamentalist. The whole while, I was thinking there was something wrong with the religions in which I was participating; they didn't seem to follow the Jesus I read about, but felt determined to make me follow their particular list of do's and don't's, or else... you know. So I stopped attending church and started reading everything I could by Wayne W. Dyer and Louise Hay, and others and A Course in Miracles, and listening to people who had a positive message about who I am and how wonderful my life can be. It's nice to know I don't have to follow another person's set of rules, and I can be (and, actually am solely) responsible for my own life and joy and peace. And that the Universe is on my side, always, because I am one with it. Aaah.
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