It was a bit if a tinkerer
back then.
Spending hours
crafting
in the shop,
tools clanging,
ideas forming,
schemes drawing in
their first long breaths.
The shop's mostly empty
now.
The tools rusted or missing
or both,
and this pen,
the once proud inventor,
sits capped and dry
wondering if it can
ever create again
3 comments:
I feel like I've written a shitload of poems like this already, but oh well.
Nice poem. What poet doesn't write about their craft in some way or another, right?
I got your Facebook message. I'll try to join in at the beginning of April. I getting married on Saturday and the honeymoon follows. Yowzers!
No sweat. Congrats. Welcome to the fetters of marriage. It's pretty cool
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