A pen, a pen, oh! I searched for a pen!
But I found none
Not one that worked at all.
I needed to write it down
Needed to write again
But how could I when no pen was in sight?
The paper lay waiting
Hoping I could find a pen, so I may write on it.
I am no poet and this is no poetry
I write no songs, I share no story
I am mortal and yes I worry
About life, about love
About the moon and stars above
But I am no poet as you can see
I just write whatever comes to me
When was the last ti!e you wrote a letter?
To ask anything, like if someone was feeling better.
Can you still recall the last letter you wrote?
How do you write poetry when you have no words for it?
It’s like describing the sound of a breeze
Or a color you don’t know
How do you write poetry when there is no such inspiration?
Do you even dare to?
When we’re in love, we write
When we hurt, we write
When we move on, we write
When we struggle, we write
When we achieve something, we write
When we win, we write,
When we lose, we get back on our feet
and we write
We write on our pages of life
Until we cease to be writers of it
Their colors change in tune to my emotions.
The mountains sing lullabies as each word hums its melodies.
And when I end what has been written,
The sky explodes in symphony.
All out of ideas
All out of fun
Chugging down rootbeers and munching on tortillas
I’ve had it! I’m done!
I wanted to be artistic
I wanted to be dramatic
A little sarcastic
But definitely poetic
However, all the rhyming as spent me
I think I’ve had enough
This feels like a chore now, I’ll admit guiltily
It’s been kind of rough
I can’t even write a single line
I feel stuck in the mud
I don’t know if I’ll ever feel fine
Because as of the moment, my head seems to be full of crud
What good is a pen without a paper?
Much like a lover and a hater
They both need each other
And in some ways must come together
What is a poet without a poem?
No reason to rhyme at all
None at all
A pen, a pen!
I am just a pen.
Blame me not for what has been written
For I follow only the writer.
I only put to writing
They never are my own.
They may put a smile,
They may break hearts.
But if I were to choose what’s to be written.
I would write of songs of joy
Never of sorrow or hurt.
I would write of comfort
Of the beauty of the world!
I would share wisdom
And words to encourage
I wanted to write about you
I wanted to write about him
I wanted to write about the stars
And the sky and the sun
I wanted to write about everything
But ended up writing nothing