“More Than Scribbles”
The pen does not speak—
it holds its silence in a chamber,
a reservoir where sentences
float unformed,
dark rivers stalled
before the mouth of paper.
Each droplet is a thought
waiting for gravity’s compunction,
a poem in liquid pause,
its capillary compression
held at the narrow throat of the nib.
The pipeline presses with pressure,
yet nothing escapes—
until the hand inclines,
and gravity leans through the hinge,
drawing futures downward
onto a waiting page.
There, a stained tributary
eddies downstream,
curling into margins,
its current carrying fragments
toward the widening mouth of breath.
A single line spills,
a thought becomes visible,
the poem begins to breathe.
.
Much more than scribbles…poetry is alchemy in its purest form.
Thanks, Benjamin! You are most truly appreciated 🙏🕊️
And there it is. Brilliant expression on the art of expressing 😊
Many, many thanks, dear Willow. 🙏🏻🕊️
hello dearest poet your expression is beautiful ❤️
Thank kindly, Crimsin. You are much appreciated 🙏🏻🕊️
another thought on thought as thought
divine lines, as usual, fredd
Oh, thanks for the heads up, FD. Didn’t even notice that, at first. Still exploring how ‘thought on thought’ could be so compelling 🙏🏻🕊️
I thought a think compelling thought thoughtfully compelling