Two Pens

Two Pens 

The first pen was midnight blue,

A ballpoint pen is smooth and silky.

The slim, sharp pen glimmers.

Each pen stroke strikes the pale page. 

An artist’s instrument,                         

 made from the house of the gods.

The divine device drew precisely and clearly.

And my small pen strokes were flawed.

It was Severe and sharp as an attorney,

The harshness would mellow in time.

And I would grow into its perfect precision.

The other pen was flashy, like a copper penny.

And it glitters in the bright newness,

A pen varnished glossy and smooth.

 A little cap of metal seals the fountain point,

And a slim handle covered in shiny jewels. 

The first pen was a decade old,

Practiced formal cursive handwriting.

Precise on the A and G on the inky-black R and H,

And Light on the loops and curlicues—

And the instrument of attorney formed its own origin.

Was anybody being guessed on how and when—

Like an exile waistline, light and thin,

Traveling from one place to another never finds a home.

Not the glittering, flashy pen made to impress,

I chose the one that was severe as an attorney.

All the glitter and steel did not suit my taste—

In the hands of the dean, the instrument passed the test.

The ballpoint pen in time fit like a glove into my small hand,

No longer was the pen too severe for my flawed fingers. 

I held the slim stem and wrote those letters.

The precise strokes proved its sharpness and worth.