deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Poem

Alone on the beach, I pondered:
 
Ink needs a pen, a pen needs ink.
But what use is a pen without a hand,
and the hand without a mind?
And what is a mind without Language,
Language without an idea?
Ink without language, pen and mind
is ink - merely spilled.
 
Foolish poet - you think I am so constrained?
 
Alone on the beach, I wrote in the sand:
 
I am as a bottle of wine
made to be opened - and drunk.

 
The sun gazed hot, wind swept the beach
and the words that I wrote - were lost.
Written by SeaCat
Published
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