This pen I hold tight in my hand,
Will play out till the very end.
This paper that is displayed quite so bright.
Will hold a life.
Just scribbles and lines that I have created,
My soul’s desire and minds fascination,
Will justify what will be hated.
Perhaps not in the beginning or the middle.
But, right at the end,
There’ll be that friend
When things turn grim the character turns to the pen.
Its dark lines that are held within a white expanse
blue lines will save them
At the very end.