For many years, the red Ink pen became my closest friend. In imaginary circles, we traveled all over the world and back home again. Writing for tabloids, sneaking peeping around dark well hidden corners. Jotting down what was said. Leaving out the truth at all cost. Photographing unusual experiences. Sometimes bending the rules of etiquette to create sensational lies and half-truths. Disturbing allegations written. Broken vows of conduct linking blameless people, bending circumstances to fit, carefully in conscious innocent minds. Creating trails, misinformation. Linking honesty people with criminal types. Paying for unsubstantiated research, never ever thinking about the family or friends the article would hurt. The red Ink pen symbolized the color of blood. I was focusing on notoriety with added compensation on the weekend. Again, I say the red ink pen became my closest friend. Many articles were stained with red ink. An obvious disaster if you think for a moment. Never minded the sentimentality of readers looking for the truth. I and the red ink pen were in pursuit. The red Ink pen Disclaimer the names and addresses of those mentioned were changed to protect the innocent. It's not true to life. However, write in the comments what you think about the poem. Peace and blessings to all.
© Daniel Mason