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This pen
This pen
What it holds can astonish your brain.
Logic would say, “Some ink inside of plastic,
It’s nothing really fantastic.”
But it is. You must look past logic, to see.
Look through and you’ll understand me.
Deep in the ink there’s something alive,
Influencing others to die or thrive.
Because this ink possesses many jobs
A love letter sent to lost who sobs.
Or when black liquids landscaped his plan of destruction
That put so many in a camp of construction.
A cursive signature can start a new presidency,
Or a story written in delicacy.
And the occasion the pen brought revolution,
Free-rights for blacks was no longer an erasable illusion.
Unfortunately though death it would devote.
When ink’s last message wrote,
Bleeding, it bled through the paper.
Within its atoms was a man jumping off a skyscraper.
Then logic would say, “How can some ink inside of plastic,
Do so much, it’s quite fantastic.”
So protect that pen and its soft shell,
Because it rests in hearts, in heaven and hell.
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