Pen

Pen in Hand: lyricist’s main instrument of art?
Who is to claim inspiration as a poised pen in hand
Ink awaiting destination inevitable
Held paint stroke away from the clean white
Locked in solemn prison—a lightly lit lamp
Could it not flow from lack of influence at all
Could inspiration hide in lapped silence
The pen strewn across the enclosing papers
Hand relaxed and eased outwards
To blindly relish the reviving sound of imminent thought
Why beg? artist posed for articulate insight
Intolerantly racking the brain to speed the pen on it’s road
Why not? Leave ink prostrate, hand at hand
Leave selflessly to explore past the hours locked in solitude
Mind the surrounding growth outside the surrounding walls of sanctuary
Walk amongst existing art—hand grasping masses of nature
What’s to miss? The sturdy chair, inkling ticking of restless clocks
Why wait for life in the corner? Authority labels it sane?
Much like the searching artist leaves the confining study
Clichéd environment abandoned for original motives
To blur the line of inventive flow from cold, hard, serious
To lively, new, and daring
It is not impossible to stretch the line of reason
To breach the wall of self defense and enter the land of anew
Leave the terrain of familiarity for a breath of new air
A stroke of new arty flood for the artist
Or a new existence in a dissimilar setting