Loyal in it’s service to my journalling,
I think about it’s plight
and wonder how it feels about
the lines it helped to conjure.
A ‘ once was ‘warrior,
whose words helped express my morning feelings.
A hand-held helper
who somehow knew the way to flow
& capture metaphors and meanings
from the melee.
I allow my mind to wander
and a new nib takes the strain
of rendering my pain,
my hopes, my dictum.
A surrogate for sentences uknown
until verbosity arrived and spoke.
Farewell old inky friend,
my papermate of yore
I’ll miss your grip and gentle presence in my hand.
In your debt my pages hold on to your memory,
Mightier than any sword and full of spoken word
You served me well
until silence took over.
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