Pen Poem by Alexandrian Ink

Pen

The creator created pen
With no brains to think,
An Inanimate wax of ink
Used in writs but unkeen.

Inanimate object of wood,
In my hands do have life,
A wax of ink which strife
By writing turns to blood.

Inks turn to blood of lines
Which flow from the heart
And form words, a poet's art;
Keen tool that always shines.

So the pen the creator made,
Without life, a non-thinking thing;
Is by me made an animate being,
So that we can die like a sage.