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Just a poem I absent-mindedly wrote out of boredom one night.

It's a beautiful thing, a pad and a pen
Lined and empty and inviting.
And though you think you know
You have yet to begin
To discover what my words are implying.
Flowing fluid and free
They rhyme easily
With a rhythm that's almost inhuman.
Happy and joyful or sweet and sad
Do you hear the voice that I'm using?
Writing is passion and passion is love
And love is deceptive as wind.
But over and over I say in my mind
Deception can never be dimmed.
Deception can never be dimmed.
Lovely and pretty and flowers and pink
Can be destroyed at the slightest whim.
And the power I wield with my jet-black ink
Says deception can never be dimmed.