Places in a Pen
1/11/2015
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.
