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The Quill

A poem from the point of view of a writing utensil

By Desiree T. YoungPublished 6 months ago 1 min read
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The Quill

Desireé T. Young

My vessel takes many forms

Pen, quill, pencil

Each one used for one purpose

To create reality

Yes, in the hands of my owner

I have the power to create almost anything

New countries, systems, diplomatic practice

War, famine, refuge, pain

I can heal someone’s heart

Or cause insidious ruin

I am the one weapon

That’s use has not gone extinct

Swords and bows with arrows

Have been laid to rest for war

But me, I lead the charge

I light the way every time

People downplay

My importance, my worth

They do not see

I am the most useful

Instrument they will ever need

But just like a genie,

I am bound to do only

As my master wishes

I witness the aftermath

From the safety of their pocket

The new reality I have helped create

Sometimes I’m grateful

But see even if they caught me

I have countless others

Just begging to lead

When a work gets long

And I cannot see it through

My protégé is there

To carry on where I fail

And so is the next one

And the next one

And the next one

Hydra’s got nothing on us!

The work we do always outlives us

It hangs in a museum

In your memory

You always remember

Every letter, every stroke

You even remember the

Color of my ink

I take many forms

Evolve over time

But one thing rings true

I outlive time

inspirationalslam poetry
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About the Creator

Desiree T. Young

Writing is how I make sense of the world. It is my retreat, my bridge, and my sword.

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