Ode to Pen

There are a million thoughts going on inside my mind,

I wish I could write the down line by line.

But when the pen hits paper, my thoughts subside.

It is clean here, on this white page.

This page consumes my frantic range and turns it into something beautiful, precise, planned, and eloquent.

Thank you pen for being my friend; not only do you understand me but you allow me to speak through you, as if you’re the microphone and I’m the singer.

Dear pen don’t fret, you may run out of ink but the words you create will always stay, you needn’t worry. That dreaded pencil is no match for you. Oh how you glide effortlessly across the white. Whereas pencil would scratch and scrape to force past, you run deep, you bleed.

Dear pen, thank you for being my friend.

My friend computer is too bright for my eyes. And even though her soothing clicks give rhythm to my rapid translation, you—pen are the birth of literature’s formation.