by Christoph J.
My mind is a canister filled with ink/ My thoughts take a timid dip the moment I think of my potential/ The pen is the preferred utensil/ The use of a pencil would lead to the temptation to erase the tread marks of my thoughts/ I cannot risk forgetting the lessons that I was taught/ As I climb life’s steps, I grasp the banister/ At times my pride releases my grip/ And then my canister begins to tip/ Causing my ink to slowly drip/ Drops of ink land on this paper/ With traces of my thoughts, the ink begins to taper/ Leaving behind italicized text in the form of a poem/ Its context stands on end as if it tempts me to comb through my life’s kinks/ HE thinks I shine/ Curiosity of my potential leads me to continue to climb and climb/But sometimes the hand of time refuses to shake my hand in agreement/ So I carve my name in the cement of patience/
Right now, I want you to do the same and carve your name in that same cement of patience and anticipate the continuation of this poem. Patience is indeed a virtue.
3 comments:
I stand impressed.
Thanks Dupree. That means a lot.
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