20
Jan
14

Fountain pen

There is a poetry

In the sound

Of the nib

Scratching

Across the page,

Bleeding

Its life

Onto the paper,

Leaving

A much more

Permanent

Record

Of its existence.

The stains

On my fingertips

Will wash away,

Eventually,

But

The words scribbled

In hurried urgency

Will remain,

Having soaked into

The fibers

Of the paper,

Remaining long after

The moment

Has faded

Away.

 

Timothy Vance Jackson

January 20, 2014

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1 Response to “Fountain pen”


  1. January 21, 2014 at 2:51 AM

    I enjoyed hearing the sound of this poem. Very well done.


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