Poem: A talking pen

Estimated reading time: 1 minute.

Pens do not talk,
A statement I sometimes make to hush the sounds of noisy students.
In the classroom, I crave silence
While my mind roars and whooshes, like waves hitting the shores of a rocky beach.

It's not quiet here - It hardly is.
My life looks like a blank canvas,
Hardly visible, and I do not desire to put it on display either.
Sometimes I do share; but only once in a blue moon;
When the yellow sun comes out, I chase sunsets on trips of
Intraordinary Travels.
But while my life is very quiet,
My mind isn't.

That's why I need a talking pen,
To write all the things I'd like to say.
To paint the finer details of this sketch called life
To discern the dead notes of life's song which might not be dead,
but perhaps dull.
Or maybe not dull, but perhaps hidden,
A good musician once said 'emancipate yourself from mental slavery'

And this talking pen; my pen, is my blog.
I may go back and forth with questions of life and faith,
But the lessons learned
Is how I emancipate myself.
And in writing, I set myself free.

That's why I need a talking pen,
To write all the things I'd like to say.
Pens do not talk,
But my mind does.
It's not quiet here - It hardly is.

This is Intraordinary - my talking pen.

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PS: I am planning to do an 'About Me' video tag on YouTube. Feel free to post your questions for me in the comments.