What is in the life of a pen?
Is it utter joy, or screams of lament?
Shall it be written the command of authority?
Or just the priority of what’s for dinner?
Do pens feel the ups and downs of the stroke?
The power they wield, is it known?
Do they carry the pain of the moment?
Or the tears of happiness?
Question not the power they hold.
For in truth they are but instruments of that through which the heart unfolds.