The pen may be mightier than the sword, but what about the mind that pushes the hand?
Perhaps mine is lost but it’s been stuck in translation for so long that it speaks more than it should, but I feel that it’s long overdue for it to finally take its’ stand.
I mean, it sat idly by like a lion on the prowl with a growl and a roar billowing in its’ belly.
Watching. Waiting. Hesitating.
For the mouth knew not how to do more than sing, so it stuttered and uttered word vomit for the hand to clean with symbols and phrases for the world to read. But the mind made the first move.
You see, their ears grew deaf to the songs and the screams for the help and attention that the mind wasn’t getting and it broke down and cried, “Look at me! LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT ME!”, but the words were in vain.
Scarred. Scared. Secluded.
Crying and dying were the options before it so it looked to the heavens and everywhere else below it and decided to try to attempt something foreign like the translations that I previously spoke of.
The pen was the beacon for healing and feeling but the mind needed help from the heart that kept beating in rhythm and time which held a great tempo and helped take emotion from the depths of a soul forever longing.
Longing to grow and to change and to thrive, like the sprout in the sun which is craving and raving yet still meditating while endlessly forming its’ roots.
So which wields the power, the pen or the mind? Which will move mountains or stir up the oceans or something more meaningful like save a life?
Forever a question like chickens and eggs but perhaps the real answer lies with the beauty. Perhaps in the eyes of…
Beholders. Dreamers. Believers.