Posted in Poetry

Silent Pen

Silent Pen
By Kay Rice

The pen has grown quiet and cold,
The stories, silent, unable to be told.
The whispers that came freely on the night wind,
Have faded and all but refused to begin.

A tear falls like a petal of a dying rose,
Words which flowed freely, now are froze.
No voice comes in the form of fresh ink,
The messenger of words, now gone in a blink.

The winter has wrapped around in a silent cover,
Silencing the pen of the muse and it’s lover.
Dreams remain tucked away like long dormant seeds,
Until the warmth returns and the pen again bleeds.

The madness that wears a mask in the day,
Lay quiet to sleep with its nightmares at bay.
Stories and journeys kept alive in the dark,
Unable to be written, unable to start.

The pen remains quiet, alone and so cold,
The stories gather dust, as memories grow old.
The whispers which arrived on moonbeams at night,
Have long since vanished with the coming of light.




I have always said that my poetry and short stories write themselves, I'm just the hand that holds the pen. Several of my poems have been published in local publications and in the 2011 World Poetry Movement book 'Stars in our Hearts'. Please enjoy the words, but do not steal them. I enjoy living and what life brings my way. My day job, I'm a geekgirl, a programmer. Coding is like using clues to solve a mystery to me. But, my happiness outside of the day job involves, cooking, baking, knitting, crocheting, writing, hiking, primitive skills. Yup, I come home and unplug. So there are many sides of me here. Enjoy.

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