Comforts. . .
There is a comfort
in being surrounded
by familiar things.
After a lifetime of use,
they are as old friends
needing only me as a companion.
My books follow my travels
begging not to be left behind.
Only those I have visited often
can lay claim to shrinking space.
My tablets, journals, yellow pads
and ringed ones need me to keep
forming words like a forever
love letter to mind companions.
There will come a time
when the need for even these
will cease and the red pen
will no longer underline
newly revealed insight.
For it will have all been said
The tablets will be filled,
except for a loose thought roaming
the Ether looking for a like mind
to grasp it and fill in the
fresh, forgotten ledger
lying unattended and waiting. Unfinished.