The twirling pen yearns.
It yearns to kiss the paper again;
like a caged bird who desires to fly free.
It sees the unstrung violin;
the beautiful instrument that can only sigh.
Yes, instead of releasing it’s ink,
as it is meant to,
my pen twirls and whirls.
It dance through my fingers,
the same pattern repeats.
It yearns to kiss its beloved paper once more.
Yet it only spins,
like the unstrung violin,
its purpose is unfulfilled.
Want More?
If you would like to read more of my poetry please take a look at my portfolio. You can also watch a few of my poetry readings.