Death of a Pen

Death of a Pen

10/4/2011

This empty pen

Shall soon be dead,

And we shan’t see it

          No more.

Life blood runs low

And soon shall not flow

It knows not what

          This was for.

This poor, sad poem

Will not go in a tome

And will soon be forgotten

          With age.

As the pen cruelly dies

They stutter with lies

On how the ink was spilled

          On the page.

Its death now shall end

But it never will mend

The sadness of an

          Untimely death.

Goodbye, is the cry

As it flows to the sky,

And now there’s no more

          To be red.