A Pen does its job,
No if, ands, or, buts.
A stoic writing tool,
For good and bad.
In shade and sunlight,
With humor and tragedy.
A pen does its job.
The writing is raw,
Like a blood stream of the mind.
Exposed hearts, and eyes.
Black ink is a dangerous thing,
To build up empires with a word
And crumble them with a thought.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry Portfolio
PoetryThese are several poems I have written in the past few years. They can get depressive, so fair warning.
