Lost And Found...Department Of Dreams.

Lost And Found.

(Department Of Dreams.)




Sometimes we get lost
in the hollow

of an empty refill.
Emotions are

penned up inside,
and nothing clicks
to restart the flow.

At other times

our pencils
have a leadache,
the worn pink nub
of the eraser
lies flush with

the metal wrap
holding its cure.

Often our soul

is just empty,
an inkwell evaporated,
by the condensation of tears
or the spilling of dreams.

But the fluids

that move our flesh,
also feed our brain,
and by simply observing
the world at large,
find passion

in a headline,
or blindly picking

a word out
of the dictionary,
and then making yourself
write a credible poem about.

This stirs the brain,
that moves the soul,
and bids the heart to write.

Pens are still cheap,
pencils can grow sharper,
and erasers can be silenced
by sound words.

Ink wells,
overflowing in

your cranium,
in an ancient

biological stew
that is even now

simmering thoughts.

Capture a ladle full,
and savor its

succulent broth.

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