Unless you are a writer you cannot understand this poem.
I had stopped writing and one day this came to me.
A jolt of lightning and the pen and paper came out and
the words appeared. I felt like I had finally come back
home where I belonged.
It has been so long the pen and paper whispered to each other,
Do you think she has long forgotten the two of us?
“No,” cried the paper, “praise be my friend I feel her heartbeat stirring,
And on her face I see that distant look of inspiration.”
“Do you think old friend,” the paper said, “she'll stay long enough,
For you and I to become reacquainted?”
“Who knows,” the pen replied, “ I am grateful for her presence,
For however long it might be.”
“Oh look,” the paper answered, “I feel her hand's caress upon my body,
And I see emotions pouring across my skin.
What sweetness she has cast upon me, what tenderness, what sorrow,
Yet what is this? Could it be raining?”
At this the pen replied, “No old friend it is not rain you feel,
A teardrop has fallen from the author's gentle eye.
Behold, our Mistress has returned to us,
She has come home at last.”
