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