A pen,
Plain and simple
Can bear a thousand words,
Or none at all.
One can write cursive,
Another dots and lines
You don't know what you'll write,
When you hold it to the page
Dots and lines
Hinder your words;
Your mind
Can't see the writing
Can't see the writing
On the page
The inky one
Lets your words flow
Like a waterfall,
Quick but steady.
The words vie
For precedence;
All want to land on your page.
All want that cursive-flow writing ink.
Your mind has no control,
The words just fall
One after the other…
Red ink
Blue ink
Black ink
Sometimes the words pick the colour,
Or is it the pen that picks the words?
On and on, they flow;
This pen;
I shall cherish
For the words
Flow
And will not cease…
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