The Cracked Black Bic Pen
In his hand was a bleeding
Cracked black Bic pen
Right beside it, a notebook
He’d half written in
On the pages were song words
His heart longed to sing
As black ink stained a finger
That once wore a ring
Though the note book held pages
Of his unsung songs
That cracked black Bic pen
Withheld what went wrong
As the ink kept on bleeding
Across his cold hand
It provided a reading
Even I’d understand
“We’re free to make choices,”
The ink started out,
“Inside us are voices
We all think about.”
“The thing to beware of
Is when they say,’Doubt’”
That’s when you get quiet
And they start to shout.”
As the story unfolded
I listened in awe
To this ink pen’s life lessons
From a dead poet’s paw
Learned the man lived in ‘maybes’
He could never decide
Last I heard he went crazy
Picking ties till he died
Not only did I learn
From his fatal flaw;
I learned from a cracked, black
Bleeding Bic Ballpoint
All the ins and the outpoints
About Karmic Law.’
A Note to all Poets
Who wish to do well
Don’t dangle in doubt
Heed no voice that yells
Keep writing new song words
And bring back ink wells
And remember the reason
You picked up that pen.
In truth it will free you…
In doubt; do you in
© 2012 David Brunoehler
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