Places in a Pen
I let my pen lead me to places unknown
To lands and countries where I won’t be alone.
Where I can speak to others and send them my words
Where those words can fly high like the wings of birds.
Words hold many a secrets, written in song
They show the whole world a way to be strong
Through showing us emotions, songs band us together,
To risk a cliché, they make us birds of a feather.
Or through words in poetry, written in verse
Through which many a century the reader may traverse
Back to olden days, where pens wrote great epics
And even children knew the value of poetics
Because glories were written to heroes and gods
And all across the land, words could trod.
But a pen in the right hand has powers so vast
That even people on high can’t find a way past
The places they lead to, the courses they lay
But those held on pedestals choose to put on a play
To avert the dull masses and disband the faith
They once held in writers whose words show the true face
Of the ones hiding secrets, and telling the lies
But who hold all the power, who seem so noble and wise.
My pen leads me to stories, of heroes and kings,
Or of beggars and thieves, or things that pull on the strings
Of what’s deep in your heart, which makes you feel joy or pain
And puts your mind in places that you cannot explain,
And they bring stories of people who live through hard times
Who are victims of war or abuse or of crimes
Or of people who live in a faraway place
Or were forced from their homes, from their own lands displaced,
Or stories of fantasy, where the hero’s a pawn,
Or mysteries, or adventures, must I go on?
Words bring us much but most aren’t aware
Of this wealth of intelligence and how much is there.
A large part of humanity won’t pick up a book
In which holds so much knowledge that they now overlook,
They won’t know any empathy or make a new friend
In the characters of a book, and they will not descend
Into wars so vile, and battles bloody and dark
And on glorious journeys they’ll never embark.
People don’t understand where my pen can take me
But the fault is their own and I am happy
To keep it myself, though I would like to share
I must leave it be as is only fair,
They must find for themselves the power pens hold
Because if not the feeling won’t be made of gold.
Writing is something that I do everyday
To get out my frustrations and push them away,
I use it to pull the stopper on my heart
So that turbulent emotions won’t tear me apart.
To force a love of writing and reading is bad
So I’ll leave them be until they take my hand
And choose to find joy in the words from a pen,And then I hope that they can enjoy it again and again.