A PEN AND A WHITE PAPER

My pen is walking on a white path again,

It's drifting here and there, not knowing what it's doing,

It's constantly whispering its loneliness,

It's pouring out all its experiences one by one,

Perhaps hoping someone will hear and console it, the poor thing.

It's true, everyone in this world is lonely.

What's left are our wasted years.

My pen lives with hope,

Not knowing what it's writing,

Unable to say what it needs to say.

Reviews

[JayG]

• It's true, everyone in this world is lonely.

Speak for yourself. I'm part of "everyone." And I'm not lonely.

• Not knowing what it's writing

When my pen moves, it must know exactly what it's writing, because the result is always what I request of it.

My point: This makes perfect sense to you, because you begin reading with full context, and, intent. But intent doesn't make it to the page, and the reader has only the context that you supply or evoke,

I see what you were trying to do, but there was no hard connection between your intent and the reader's context.

Sorry my news wasn't better, but because you do have context and intent, it works perfectly when you read it. And since no one addresses the problem they don't see as being one, I thought you might want to know.