Pen Poem

It is blue, it is black, it is green, it is red,

A myriad of colours blossoming words that would be spoken,

An instrument of love and hate, of torture and praise,

My preferred tool is black and quick, poised to spit poison,

It scatters endless words across the blank page,

Watch as it creates art out of nothing, poetry out of lines,

It tells stories of kings and queens in their mighty strongholds,

Of peasants and paupers and the land that will make them rich,

It writes the child’s fairy tale and the women’s secret novel,

It pens the draft of a man’s paper and the teenage magazine,

It leaves no stone unturned in its timeless quest for power and glory,

It is revered among the people of the past,

It all but forgotten by the people of the present,

It creates gold dust in a world running too fast for it to follow,

It carves out history and creates gods that rise above mere mortals,

Tales older than those who tell them are imprinted on yellowing pages,

It is left to entertain the masses through speech and play,

Crafting a forbidden world and retracing the forgotten dreams of the past,

It may seem a simple device, worth nothing to your eyes,

But it makes magic in the grey world around us and weaves life into words,

It can make a fat lady sing or a small boy speak like he couldn’t before,

It can paint a face on a wall or write a simple love story into an epic romance,

Though it is humble and modest, it forms the grand and the majestic,

Like a common women becoming an impressive queen,

It stands high above those whose wish to smother it, though slowly it is dying,

A symbol of what has been lost in the new age that surrounds our lives,

A mark of the past in a world that wants out words to shine on a screen.

 

Reviews

[MOON]

Ode to a pen , strange how we all forget the humble pen , an essential tool of our craft. lovely write

[......]

I just loved your first five lines of this, Quite the interesting read, in which i enjoyed reading.