The Pen That Inspires Me

 

The power 

of writing.

The freedom

of expression.

 

Oh Pen, your

everflowing ink, 

the ease at which 

you make my hand write.

How effortless it is

to express my ideas

when I have you 

in my hand.

 

You empower anyone

Who has the honor 

of holding you, 

of wrapping their fingers

around your 

slender,

tall, 

and strong body.

 

Your lightweight.

your simple, 

yet elegant composition

makes heads turn,

all eyes drawn to you.

 

Your versatility

and unique purpose.

you are crafted in every shape, 

every color;

your presence

serves as both

functional

and aesthetic.

 

Your existence is

derived from 

Trees,

givers of life;

Metals,

easily malleable

when hot,

then mighty to the touch

when cold;

and from

Silicone

combined with mildly-flexible

plastic compounds,

so that if you

should tragically fall,

you are

indestructible.

 

Your colors

light up 

A paper,

which before

your addition

is plain,

dull, 

and without life.

 

Your evolution

through time.

for centuries,

you have been 

the tool

that advances society.

 

Laws and Declarations,

Speeches and Presentations,

Novels and Textbooks,

Vows and

Diaries. 

How many people

have searched 

and found

their identity

as a result

of embarking

on a journey fueled by you, dear Pen?

 

It is thanks to you

that the notion

of a 

“Recorded 

History”

exists.

 

The rich, 

slippery liquid

inside you.

Your essential nature.

 

Oh, dear Pen,

nothing can ever

replace you

in my heart.

 

Computers,

bright screens,

and artificial light,

do not compare

to the literary liberties

you provide.

 

Yes,

the communication of ideas

may still be present,

but

what mass-produced,

robotic

keyboard

could express the art

of calligraphy

the way only 

you allow our

feeble hands

To do?

 

How could it

even begin

to compare

with

the subtly sweet

scent 

of the dark,

rich

liquid inside

your veins?

Or your concrete, 

soft,

physical presence?

 

You excite.

You inspire.

and we

Write

the history of

the future,

by holding 

You 

in our hands.

This poem is about: 
Me
My community
Our world

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