The Pen, My Friend

ink splash

The pen, my friend, lays quiet.
Aches for my touch.
I ignore it.
Too busy.
I flit here and there,
a gnat disturbing activities
just enough to be annoying
but not enough to make
a lasting difference.

My friend, the pen, waits.
Silent.
Until I have no choice
but to return.
I see her lying there calm and quiet.
I return to unleash chaos.
I splash ink across the page.
I saturate white with explosive ideas.
Thoughts that have been
hibernating, dormant,
hovering on the cusp of awareness,
release.
A frenzy of strokes and letters
circle up and down
until my pen begs to be put down.
It cries to be ignored again
so it can catch its breath,
relax,
dissolve into peace.