That pen and pad
Is all there is
And when the fall comes
They’re the last things
That stay
Pen becomes rope
Thin but real
Wrapped in hope
You barely feel
Pad becomes ground
Soft but deep
Catching the sound
Of what you keep
Ink turns to night
Heavy and slow
Pulling the light
Where you can’t go
Lines drop low
Rhyme grows weak
Truth starts to show
What you can’t speak
Fall gets cold
Fall gets long
Stories told
Don’t feel strong
But
That pen and pad
Still hold the spark
Still mark the path
Through the dark
They rise like wings
They hum like breath
They stitch the things
You thought were death
Soft beginning
Rocky middle
Deep fall end
Yet still they mend
That pen and pad
Is all I have
And somehow
They’re enough
To lift me
Back up