The Writer’s Pen

How many words 

How many ideas 

How many feelings 

Have passed in its ink 

What memories it must hold 

As a keeper or custodian 

Diligent in its duties 

Feeling the weight of each word 

How many love letters 

How many protests 

How many elegies 

The power contained 

The archive of life’s id 

It’s raw hunger 

It’s silent truths 

It’s untempered cries 

It’s secret fires 

A bridge between 

the inner and outer worlds 

transforming thought 

into permanence 

making it real 

making it now  

My faithful witness 

in my hand 

through seasons 

of joy 

of grief 

of change 

It is my shield 

my sword 

my balm 

igniting rebellion 

fostering resistance 

and healing the divide 

It’s ink 

both wound and salve 

The pen 

carries my breath 

the exhale of my soul 

It has held the tremor of grief 

It has traced the laughter of children 

It has signed the petitions of the unheard 

It has trembled 

in the hands of the broken 

It has thundered 

in the fist of the brave  

It has carried 

the whispers of children 

and recorded 

the last words of the dying 

When it is finished 

it will have carved a legacy 

to be carried forth 

to generations yet to come 

The writers pen 

© Ron Simpson Jr. 

December 8, 2025 

Cheated

You never thought 

you’d have to choose 

You thought 

you could have both worlds— 

thought you were being faithful 

to both lives 

when you were being faithful 

to neither 

I won’t pretend I’m blameless 

I helped build the lie 

I played my part 

I fed the fire 

My head whispered warnings 

but my heart shut the door 

and begged for the flames 

My heart refused to heed 

the counsel I’d give anyone else 

It always looks different 

from the inside 

I loved with reckless abandon 

I invested carelessly 

And here I am— 

Bereft 

Broken 

Alone 

Your first love 

remains your forever love 

I am the trespasser 

cast as the wrecker 

of a house already broken 

But if I am the wrecker 

why do I feel so wrecked 

Why am I the one 

left in the ashes 

Why is my life 

the one shattered 

by heartbrokenness 

If I am the betrayer 

why does it feel like 

you are walking away 

with pieces of me 

I will never get back 

And if I am the cheater,

why do I feel so— 

cheated.

© Ron Simpson Jr.

December 10, 2025

More to Life

Sometimes 

we look over our lives 

and wonder 

if there isn’t more 

We often see our days as ordinary 

mundane and bogged down 

in the morass of routine 

We catch ourselves 

staring toward the horizon 

and wondering

Yes 

there are seasons  

when we stand 

on the brink 

of magnificent change 

when the world 

feels ready to burst open 

when the dam 

is straining at its seams  

when we are moments away  

from being swept 

into a grand new tomorrow 

Still 

we peer into the future 

and wonder if there is more

We must not lose sight of today 

in our search for tomorrow 

In our relentless pursuit 

of the brighter horizon 

we dance with the danger 

of losing sight 

of the treasures 

folded into this moment  

Embrace the hush 

of beauty in small things 

Hold on to the wonder 

woven through daily life 

Cherish the laughter 

that clings to kitchen walls 

Honor the rebellion  

in wildflowers pushing 

through cracked concrete 

Inhale the scent 

of rain rising 

from thirsty earth 

Receive the kindness

of random strangers

Bask in the love

of family  

of friends 

Look for more 

but understand that 

sometimes 

more 

is simply more 

of the beauty of today

Hold fast 

to the trueness of love 

© Ron Simpson Jr.

December 4, 2025