A pen is too permanent for a world of change
When discoveries and detours are unknown
Beyond the bread and butter issues at home
Who knows where I will roam?
An opportune virus opens the door
Quarantined in a hotel to avoid the bends
Decompressing in conditioned air
Holed up like Marco Polo with stories from there
Pencil me in to the bottom of the ninth
With the home team down by a run
One hit will tie the score
That is what erasers are for
A death in the family would hold be back
Or a gallbladder cyst in need of removal
The orange sun setting in a Taichung sky
As orange clouds o’er Portland drift by
Fire needs fuel to keep it bright
A spirit renewed to carry me through
I am burning to see my regeneration
To shatter my porcelain vase of fixation
As I sit balanced on the river’s edge
A bridge to developments yet uncrossed
Bats overhead to and fro in their dances
The river between us rolls on taking chances
As I sit over here in suspended animation
Watching wispy clouds in the teal of dusk
Migrating birds in formation southerly
To this startled onlooker it seems suddenly
The flock knows how they are heading
Not forgetting when and whither
But I take chances with uncharted fate
The Tao’s has good intentions so I mustn't hesitate
Write me with pencil in the book of life
Smite my enemies on the road I travel
Nudge me aside from foolish pride
Up and front with nothing to hide
A pen is too final for writing a story
Space bar and delete key on the P.C. sticking
As the plot thickens, my character develops
By the true light my intention envelopes
September 14, 2020
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Copyright © 2020 by David Barry Temple. All rights reserved
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