My Pen

I saw my pen...

I saw it dancing,

on a paper made for writing,

I don't think I still have to write

for my pen is dancing tonight.

I saw it dancing in winter snow

the darkness of the night would make it glow,

words written were just spontaneous,

more or less, sanctimonious.

I saw it gliding,

leaving words that are surprising

nevertheless, they become iconic

with a candle light beside, it's erotic.

I saw it writing,

letters formed were omnipotent and seductive

leaving the paper cognitive,

I never knew the word it writes.

I saw it sliding letters in cursive

it never was abusive,

for the paper feels flawless comfort

it just lies down and never contort.

I guess I no longer have 

to say those words to you;

for statements written

   speaks for me in hue,

an acrostic that states

          the reason.

A beacon that warns the shadow

from a simple pen that's never shallow,

it finally formed a word

I never thought

but gave a life that's never bought.

Just read and feel the cry,

the cry of the Darkness with

         a Sadist heart

written by it's pen that never lie,

kept in doctrine, they say it's art.

I never have to say those words to you,

My pen has already done it for me.