Alone with a pen.
Thoughts walking along the coffee hue paper; it's life consisting of nothing but words with wanting.
Words that want a change in th e world that speaks, with tongues all the same.
Words that have lines, dots, loops.
Different placements have never tore the unity of worlds apart.
Alone with in emptiness.
Impossible feet, made possible with those with belief.
Of those who speak with not tongues.
Of those who mark with not ink.
But are alone with the many, and complete with the few.
Those that are the ancestors of the ancient tongues, and the creators of the scribbled ink.
Alone within and empty...
Alone with a beginning...
Alone with a pen...