11 Ways of Looking at a Pen


Gobs of ink

Drip out of the volatile black hole

Staining the virtuous paper forever



I know not whether I prefer

The idea of the pen

Or the pen itself.

Is there not a – sometimes debilitating- expectation

Upon picking it up?



Both an instrument of a written art

And a thing of my own demise,

Sometimes I have no choice

But to sign my life away.



A writer and a pen

Should be inseparable,

Just like a musician to her harp.



I alone know the pain a pen can inflict.



Does it matter more

What your pen writes

Or which pen you take with you?

When I am angry,

I find my pen much different

Then when I am otherwise inclined.



The paper is all filled up,

Now to mark my skin.



Shakespearean souls

And brothers in arms

Would be weaponless

Were it not for

The ultimate ingenuity.



By blending the perfect consistency

Of ink

I rekindle the idea of my own opinions

And express that which

I believe.



Perhaps all I have truly learned

In my study of pens

Is that it really isn’t the pen

That makes the magic, but the ink.

Then again, maybe it’s me.



My birthright

Is to think

To feel

And to write.


(Thanks for reading!  Please comment below any changes I could make to improve this piece!)


One thought on “11 Ways of Looking at a Pen

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