The pen that lies on the desk across the room from where I sit is not moving.   It is still . . .

It’s not waiting . . . that would be me doing that . . . and it, the pen, hasn’t run out of ink . . . and, in truth, it’s hardly idle . . . that pen . . .

. . . taunts the writer . . .

                . . . teases the thinker . . .

. . . sneers at the timid . . .

        . . . reminds the bill payer and the shopper and the list maker and the parent . . .

And, yet, has remained perfectly still . . .

                           . . . while being actively engaged with the energies surrounding it . . .

I suspect it is my teacher

While it hasn’t done a thing.

                                                               see?

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    Disclaimer: Poetic license is at work both here and in my books. Any errors or anomalies are through no fault of my editor. These were left deliberately at my expressed intention to clearly indicate that goodness does not require perfection.

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