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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

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

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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