Ode to a Pen

The pen is mightier than the sword that is what is said.

The pen meets with a white blank page waiting for something extraordinary to happen.

The pen holds words, in which it is all accounted for.

The pen writes it permanently. It can be a journal, it can be a drawing, it can be a poem. The pen is the mightiest of them all. Words can hurt feelings, words can express feelings. The pen holds it all, yet it takes no accountability. It has no mind of its own. It can create beauty and magic, without the pen Shakespeare would not be heard of, without the pen forget about the greatest American authors: Melville, Twain, Fitzgerald, Whitman, Hemmingway. They would be nothing. They would be forgotten like the rest of us, buried in the earth without a sound. They would not be studied around the world. The strength is in the pen, the pen holds so much power yet when out of ink it is feeble, powerless. So here’s the ode to a pen:

Oh, unassuming instrument of words and thought,

With an ink-filled core, thy purpose sweetly sought,

A faithful friend, companion through the years,

Ink's flowing river, repressing all my fears.

Thy slender form, a wand of magic's might,

Guiding my thoughts through day and endless night,

Upon the canvas of blank pages white,

Thou bring'st to life the visions taking flight.

In balladry of strokes, both bold and fine,

To dance upon the parchment, so divine,

Each curve and line a testament to art,

A symphony of words, a song's true start.

A bridge thou art, twixt heart and distant mind,

Across the realms of space and fleeting time,

Thy power vast, in solitude or throng,

To weave a tale, or right a grievous wrong.

From Shakespeare's quill to modern paper's grace,

Thy legacy, unending, leaves its trace,

In scrolls of history, and parchment's scroll,

Thou play'st a role, a lantern for the soul.

Oh, pen, thou art a scribe's unyielding sword,

A silent witness to the truths explored,

So here's to thee, thou noble pen of old,

A treasure worth more than silver, worth more than gold,

Forever might thy ink continue flow,

A testament to words, to dreams, to know.