A pen is a powerful thing
It can drown you in its ink.
It can transform the parchments of your body and soul
Weave poems from a reed
by
a river bank.
It can free you like a bird
offering you the sky
It can take you to your darkness
Darker than its ink.
Yet it gives you the unawaited moonlight you need
To grope through the verbs nouns and adjectives
Thus you may compose yourself.
It has killed, conquered, build Thrones and Empires.
It can nourish you without bread and water.
It can torment you, beat you like sheaves of wheat till your husk has gone.
From its immense silence it streams
The music of
your sorrow and joy.
It can lie beautifully
And cut you with unconforting truth.
It can be pure
And bring you the waters
From the abode of the Gods.
Hold your pen
With your empty mind
With Beauty alone for ink
