My Blank Diary

The new pen had been nagging me to begin.
“Huh!” I said “You think it’s easy?”
One has to think and plot and get the threads right
To bind the happy with the solemn, and the tears with the bright.

And then to find the right colours as costumes
For the pensive it’s a sedate blue, immersed in musings of the false with the truth
The writers always are the most difficult to dress; they change their moods as often as they do
Just when I put on that bold red, the writer chose a Haiku which ended in a feeling of soft blue.

Easy do you think even the rainbows are?
Look at the sky again and see them neighbouring colours merge
Even my happy hero isn’t always in velvet and satin
For when tears flow in loneliness and in sorrow.

He sheds his riches and shelves them for the morrow
For that day when the sun shines again
His crown he loves so, shall sit on his head, a golden glow
Aah naive pen, your art I love!

Your bold strokes and caresses breathe life in my words
While I often pen harsh lines, you smoothen them with your hues soft
I pick up my thoughts while you paint a story, a craft
Through ups and downs and hills and taverns
And nooks of love and tornadoes of passion.

Into a tranquil sea, we rest, my thoughts I lay down
Waiting for the tide to carry them far into another blue horizon…