The Poet's Playful Pen

I sit and sip hot tea
Nonchalantly
I wait for the motivation to write
What I chose not for myself
Procrastination consumes me
I wait a bit longer
Nothing but daydreams escape my head
Nothing but poetry enters my hand
The pen flows across the paper
Its own agenda to fulfill
Ignoring punctuation it glides
It grins with glee at its rebelliousness
I laugh at its childlike enthusiasm
It runs and stops- a trick you see
Because it starts again with a fury
And I cannot catch it
Cannot keep up
The tea feels abandoned now
It's steam running out
But the pen keeps running with a rhythm
Until it reaches the end of its paper yard.
It's now time for supper.
 

Reviews

[Shapeshifter]

Ahhhh!!! Your subtle play on the movement of time between mid afternoon and evening made me feel like I was in your secret clubhouse visiting, leaving me wanting more. Also, your amazing ability to animate inanimate objects and bring them to life is comical, yet sad in a strange way so that I can feel their separation. Kudos:)