In the brilliant white desk drawer,
With its organizers holding paper, notecards, highlighters, and more.
There is something there.
Silvery-gray body
Sleek as silk.
Pure black ink flows out like a waterfall.
It travels with its owner
To the office and airport.
Words hidden inside, wanting to burst out,
Onto the crisp white paper.
We both have ideas.
We both are surrounded by work supplies, and find a joy in it.
It represents a work of art,
With words or lines.
This object helps express what I feel.
I use it more than once or even twice.
I always have one of its brethren with me.
This object that I cherish is a pen.
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Author:
M.E.M. (
Offline) - Published: May 27th, 2021 12:44
- Comment from author about the poem: Old poem, not edited since it was created 9-18-2015. Comments welcome.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 23
Offline)
Comments2
Those pens can be so powerful in our hands as the words from our hearts flow though them onto the paper.
Andy
a mighty weapon, in the hands of a poet
for good or bad?
only that crude integrity of a mind's: ink
can truly reveal...
a wonderful read, thanks for sharing
That’s good! thanks for sharing
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