My pen has been quiet
Lately.
I think –
It’s my vice,
This thinking.
Pondering and contemplating
Spur into anxiety and worrying.
This running, racing,
My mind, forever testing and retracing
The odds and possibilities,
Going back and replanning,
Missed moments and slips,
Lips closed instead of opened,
Words held, left unspoken.
And these reruns,
They eat time,
Replaying old, forgotten rhymes.
And I sit and wonder why
My pen has kept quiet
Lately.
•
But the silence, it’s scary.
It’s loud;
I need to drown it out
With a talk,
And a text,
A call,
A quick check in.
Scroll a bit further,
Play this old tune a bit louder.
Crackle, click, repeat,
Heart, play, reply,
Can’t stand to miss a beat,
Wait –
What do you mean?
Of course I’m still watching!
Because quiet that’s room
For a cry from inside,
Calling,
No, mend YOUR life.
Numbing a broken piece
Will never mend it.
Like leprosy, this loud,
It drowns out
The still, small cry,
This hurts, let’s see why –
Nah, I’m fine.
I honestly ain’t got time
To even consider why
My pen has been quiet
Lately.
•
Margins,
You say,
On a rare day
When it comes to mind
The length of time
Since I allowed in the quiet.
That pen, you say,
Can whip fire or decay.
Your choice, your voice
Or mine?
Because noise doesn’t equal music,
And words on paper
Don’t mean you’re listening.
I’m not asking for just a margin.
Your edges,
They’re frayed.
Frankly, I deserve the page.
Crisp, clean, and new,
Just like I’ve made you.
But instead I get the edge,
Left overs,
Half tuned-in moments
With background and distractions,
Your own ideas and dreams
And near-sighted plans of action.
They take up the whole page,
You choke me out,
there’s no space.
And you wonder why
I haven’t said much to you
Of late.
•
Do you ever just listen?
Allow yourself to get quiet.
No more drowning and filling.
I know silence
Appears deafening,
But it’s not.
If you’d like to hear me
Turn down all the racket
And get still.
Get silent.
Close your mouth,
Just for a minute, stop whining,
And listen
To your pen.
Let me do the talking
For just a little bit.
•
Did you know I answer?
I want to
Chat with my girl.
Who made your mouth?
And your pen –
Why do you even wield it?
Shh, child,
Just be quiet for a minute.
I gave breath, song, voice,
But each came with a choice,
A mystery in the music,
Pause, rest, breathe.
Notes matter,
But sometimes the key
Is found simply in the in-between.
That’s where you’ll hear me.
Give me a blank page
And some silence,
I’ll fill the space.
And maybe you’ll learn to embrace
The quiet that makes
A pen come alive
Finally.