Ode on a Ballpoint Pen

A silly ode, vaguely modeled after Pablo Neruda's work

Like all instruments,

You lie there lifeless

Until electrified

By my hand.

Your lifeblood flows

Freely at slightest pressure;

Alone, your heart shrivels,

Dry, dead.

The conduit

For grandestine human thoughts;

Such ideas conveyed.

You are senseless

Of your worth.

Few can recognize

The depth of meaning,

The importance of you,

Sleek favorite.

Of, prophet!

You portray emotion,

Life, love

The best of all things therein.

Like a star in brightest heaven,

Shining blue, green, red;

Like a well of deepest water,

Black as pitch.

Filler of blankness,

You make rigid pages

Come to life with

Swirling depth.

My hand touches,

Electrifies you.

My thoughts are expressed.

Blessed slave,

You cannot but do

My bidding.