Poem About an Ink Pen by Chris G.

Posted: April 19, 2009 in Poems

 

The pen,

ink-filled extension of the hand

to inscribe on paper

what once was the man.

Like fingerprints,

the individuality of styles

to be carried in handwriting

over many of miles.

Mightier than the sword,

the pen can be heard

echoing the thoughts

within the written word.

The ink,

so black like the dark of night,

reflection of the soul

against the paper so white.

Scratch away the time.

Etched into the groove;

hard plastic type cylinder,

ball point so smooth.

Symbiotic harmony,

the pen can’t live without me

and vice versa is the trip,

I keep the pen about me.

Dot the i’s,

cross the t’s, and fill in every gap;

the recreation of the pen

until I return the cap.

by Chris G.

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