When the hand drops in exhaustion
The pen escapes the loose grip
And rolls across the worn floorboards
Venturing a new path in the dust
Uncovering designs none have seen for a lifetime
When the pen hesitantly approaches the rim
Teetering on the edge
Finally giving in and breaking the boundary
Falling down the rickety stairs
Pushing through the cobwebs
Stirring up what has rested for centuries
When the pen clatters to the floor
A sound much to sharp for such a still place
Reverberating off the walls
When the pen finally rolls to a stop
Basking in a single pool of golden light
Discovering a final place to rest
When the new becomes old
When all grows still once more
When the sound fades into the deaf walls
The day is done
The life is gone
The story has ended
Jul 3, 2013
Jul 3, 2013 at 1:08 PM UTC
When the hand drops in exhaustion
The pen escapes the loose grip
And rolls across the worn floorboards
Venturing a new path in the dust
Uncovering designs none have seen for a lifetime
When the pen hesitantly approaches the rim
Teetering on the edge
Finally giving in and breaking the boundary
Falling down the rickety stairs
Pushing through the cobwebs
Stirring up what has rested for centuries
When the pen clatters to the floor
A sound much to sharp for such a still place
Reverberating off the walls
When the pen finally rolls to a stop
Basking in a single pool of golden light
Discovering a final place to rest
When the new becomes old
When all grows still once more
When the sound fades into the deaf walls
The day is done
The life is gone
The story has ended
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