Oh, humble pen,
You are the voice of my silent thoughts,
A river of ink that flows with my dreams.
In your slender form,
Lies the power to birth worlds,
To carve emotions into paper's skin,
To whisper the secrets of my soul.


What are you, but a vessel of words?
Yet, within you, lives the spark of creation.
You dance across the page,
Trailing ideas like the stars in the night sky,
Binding them in the constellations of my mind.


Do you not see, oh simple pen,
The weight you bear?
More than just ink and metal,
You hold the essence of my being,
The dreams I dare not speak,
The fears I cannot name,
The love I yearn to share.


But what is love, without your gentle touch? 
Without you, the words remain trapped, 
Unformed, unspoken, 
Like a songbird caged within my heart. 


And yet, you are silent, 
Your power dormant until called upon, 
Resting in my hand, waiting, 
For the moment when thought meets ink, 
And the world shifts, 
From nothing to something, 
From silence to symphony. 


Oh, pen, do you know your worth? 
In your simplicity, you hold infinity, 
A universe within each stroke, 
A life within each line. 


And as you lie there, resting, 
Do you dream of the stories yet to be told? 
Do you yearn for the touch of my hand, 
To bring forth the tales locked within my heart? 
Or do you wait in quiet anticipation, 
For the next breath, the next thought, 
The next journey we shall embark on together? 


Oh, pen, You are more than just a tool, 
You are a companion, a confidant, 
The keeper of my deepest truths, 
The bridge between my mind and the world. 

 
In you, I find solace, 
In you, I find strength, 
In you, I find my voice. 


And so, I honor you, humble pen, 
For in your ink, I am reborn, 
With each word, 
each line, 
I become, 
I am, 
I write.