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The Quill
Plaintively it hovers
upon the waiting blankness
in silent contemplation
thoughts, words, ideas
Fleeting across the page
stained in ink, sealing
it closed, awaiting transformation
a new life breathed, a sliver of
a soul captured
to pour over each word like a drink
of sweet wine
Eagerly let the pen fly without
restraint, silently it screams
the need to be heard, resounding
in carving its blank canvas
a concept, an emotion, captivated
Slowly it will begin to fade away
never completely satisfied
thriving and starving again
it will drink new life
once more.
2:50 PM - 10/24/2007 -
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