Response to a line from an Untitled Poem “Sidewalk is a rainbow taking me out of my life” -poet unknown

I found a nice path through the forest

of my life.

Content, yes, and growing

but it’s been ages

since I felt the scratching of pen

against trees- pulped and lined.

We make new leaves of white:

red and blue measure our words,

stack them in rows atop one another

and our brains make sense

of ink on a forest.

My pen is  a purple twig

as of yet, unruly in damp hands.

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