Oh foul pen, 

Why don’t you write?

The page is as spotless 

As a lamb

And your tip dry

From unuse.

 

How will you woo your audience

Through your stationary stance?

How will you change the world

By staying still?

Your purpose is to write,

To dress words up in eloquence,

To capture the imagination;

 

Is it fear, 

That you give no response?

Is it shame,

That you stand, caught in the headlights?

Or is it doubt,

That you give up?

 

Oh, pen, that you would write again 

In the fervor that you once had. 

We had such exciting times,

Giving no care to the world 

Except for the smallest bits

We would tear down

And build back up again.

You used to run across the paper,

Back and forth with no break.

 

Now do so again,

Or so help me,

You will remain capped on the desk

And collect dust

Like the ballet shoes and the camera.