My pen is dead.
A carcass.
Lying still in my hand.
She has bled too much
and with every drop of her blood
She sang songs of hope
To the deaf ears of humanity.
With her tiny legs,
She has choreographed steps of sanity.
My pen, though powerful, has died.
Trying to write many rights
And right many wrongs.
She has bled her last
Breathing caution and precaution
To the deaf ears of humanity.
Just so you know,
My pen died,
Trying to save you.
Is that a dirge I hear?
About the Author
