When a pen became a path
The pride was drawn out in inspiration,
Slow assurance that allowed questions
To knock harder
At the doors of thought.
Close friends emphasized while family drew curiosity that played
On the morning plate of my intellect
Although many would only pretend to understand,
Asking the vague questions that were
Only half answered.
Gradually I became afraid to walk without it;
The sun traced a new inspiration,
or insurance just in case the mark was missed somehow.
A harsh reality became nothing more than a spot to ink in,
Bending where the pen never broke as the tip of the new day appeared.
Sleep now an annoyance blocking out the truth.
Every place became a new canvas
While my bad days played a backdrop to ease the eyes to what life has become.
The tube faded in color
And lost its appeal.
At times the reality is
That this is a peculiar gift,
And it is to be handled with great critique
Falling off a invisible cliff.