Treasure Island

James Murdock

(06/13/1986 / Dahlonega, GA)

A Simple Pen


A simple pen drawn from its pack
And laid upon the wood of work
To hush the growling desk that lurks
Too soon to lift it off its back

Too soon to pick it up to write
That lonely tale that pitches yonder
Stout sounds of sickles turning under
To reap the day that reaches night

Unto that scene that speaks to darkness
Unto that forest sopping black
No warmth left rasping at your back
Must taste the silent mangled starkness

Must bow before the vague and battered
Without the blade of waking talk
With legs too poor to merely walk
And rise to pleat the portions scattered

Some heave their sunken heads to sight
Or slice with steel from scrounger's tables
To dine on scraps of trampled fables
Some blazing bursts quell somber lights

Then from their brains pour sifted showers
Like famished wolves for the freshest blood
Flow versing thuds and vicious floods
Roll thunderous rivers of unearthly power
From deadened sands spring brilliant flowers
Simple pens build timeless towers

Submitted: Sunday, November 11, 2012
Edited: Wednesday, January 23, 2013

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