The Abandoned Pen

By: Ethan Rampersaud

Photo Credit: Creative Commons

Upon a pine tree
I saw a messy script,
disorganized, but not illegible

I had been wondering about later
and was lying in the shade,
among wilted leaves

when i found it: a red pen,
an essential instrument, as small
as twigs

It didn’t look functional,
But fate works in silence
from now to later.

I opened the inside:
it was bleeding, crimson,
a picturesque shade

except for the invasive black,
which turned its color,
into maroon.

What had lay there,
is here now
and lives in my hands

where, occasionally,
it lets out it ink,
fueling my ideas.

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