When I take my pen in hand
It’s strange how it seems to take command
Of everyday things that come and go.
It’s as if by letting the ink just flow
I feel better about my life.

It’s a comfort to put down into words
All of the nuances that color what’s heard.
To complete a thought and just let it hang
Is like a bell that never rang
Its tone for which it was made.

And so this pen has become my friend
That helps me over and over again.
It allows my thinking to gain control
And soothes the distance between my stroll
Into the vast unknown.

I write. I write and the words unite
To create an ensemble of scenes.
And all of the scenes depict for me
Everything that I want them to be.
And that in itself is power.

Edwina Reizer

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-power-of-the-pen-3/