before the quill falls silent

arquious

Some words live best

in the weight of paper

and the scent of ink.

This piece remembers

the feel of writing

before the world went weightless.

I wrote when ink could smudge,

when paper drank each word like rain,

and margins bloomed with afterthoughts

in the tilt of a hurried hand.

Now letters glow in silent rows—

no scent of pulp, no weight of page—

only the pause of a waiting pen

and the arc of an unseen cloud.

Still I dream of the press’s breath,

of type that bites and leaves its mark,

of holding something warm and real

before the quill falls silent.

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Comments +

sorenbarrett September 23rd, 2025 03:58
A wonderful poem speaking what many a poet feels that poetry meant more in print than on the net. I too have felt that but then there would be far less chance of being published or even read. Once immortality was cut in stone now it has moved to the pages of a book. Well written
Doggerel Dave September 23rd, 2025 05:58
Everything felt more real then.... not, despite being so ephemeral today it has (by virtue of its volume) the feel of an explosion rather than a construction built on solid foundations.... Insight right there.
Neville September 24th, 2025 05:39

this feels so very real .. indeed, almost imminent .. anyone that writes will undoubtedly relate .. Anyway, kindest regards to both you and your pen sir .. Neville

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