A writer must write right, right? Because when he stops writing for whatever reason, he has simply stopped writing, right?
This little porcelain writer and his dog was discovered in a home that had been abandoned for 30 years. He was my inspiration for this poem
You think, the wheel turns reluctantly.To an abstract idea, word, picture, writers ascribe emotion.On New Year’s Eve, once before, you actually felt it turn.Two great cogs, that turned together.A mixture of smooth and rough was sanded awayseconds months hours centuries and one Millenium for you, just once.
Your porcelain face looked doubtfully at the people you once were with.Like spent leaves one day, they blew awayThe place where the cogs turned together, openedand you saw something larger than you could understand,a place where everything one alive, just stopped…
~ Tranquilpen ©2019
Did you like the poem and the porcelain ornament?