Mon stylo
My pen
is a stranger to me,
estranged from me.
L’etranger.
My pen
has sat for weeks,
idle, spent, silent.
Oublié.
My pen
turns in my fingers,
once a part of me.
Perdu.
My pen
welcome back, great
to see you again.
Ça va mon ami?
My Words, My World
First drafts – A few pages in the large wilderness of the world of writing
Archive for the day “April 13, 2016”
Whereabouts
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My Words, My World 