The Cracked Black Bic Pen

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