On the tip of a pen


White turns to black and a sudden feeling of relief enters my mind.

Each stroke imprisons a mere thought–a thought that once swam freely in my mind. 


A thought now trapped on a thin, white sheet. 

A thought now vulnerable to anyone who chooses to investigate it. 

A trapped thought, but at least it was alone, 

no longer surrounded by the chaotic swarming of other thoughts. 

As each thought leaves my mind, it becomes something new. 



turned to words

turned to a story. A perplexing story.


White turns to black and a story is formed. 

White turns to black as the thin tip hits the white sheet of promise. 

The white sheet that holds the potential of hope. 

The blankness of the white sheet quickly darkens each time that tip hits it. 


White turns to black and everything becomes clear. White turns to black and my thoughts are organized. 

White turns to black again and again, and it won’t stop. 

It won’t, can’t stop until I do. 

I let white turn to black and relieve my mind.