The Pen Writes
And as I sit with a lost cause, I look
I look at the pen in my hand, at my disposal.
A feeling of, power.
I think about all the things yet said, then I know!
I know it somehow all has been said..
Generations and generations of humans have come and go.
At some point in their lives, sharing their wisdom and something of them.
They talk about all they know,
Some truth and some lie.
In all, I am sure I still have a word to say.
I know, so long as the beating drums,
A sway and thump inhibit me.
Then I go ahead to dream,
Of all the lovely words to say!
But lovely is never quite always!
At least, the pen remains in hand to write.
Today, I celebrate, appreciate.