Posted by: SPT | May 24, 2010

A Courier Tale

In front of me sits a pen, but it’s not the pen that writes, for even i control that slight gesture that keeps the ink flowing.  In front of me sits a pen that abmushes me.  What power must it have to have caught me without a glance, i wonder under its trance.  its long silouette pierced through my defenses, havin rendered me senseless.  it flows, sure, but it never explained what.  I picked it up to use it, but could not.  Just because a pen sits in front of me, because through it a universe exists, does not mean that I am keen.  I sit and observe, patiently waiting.  To me comes a thought, that could not detract from the pen, because it was all but written in ink.
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Responses

  1. Wow I am really the only reply to your awesome writing.

    • Start a trend, my friend.


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