Paper

If my paper would speak,what would it say?
Would it push away my pen if I write today?
And how would the paper feel?

Maybe it would feel oh so special.
Because I carved in it words so sweet.
Maybe it would fear my pen.

For the worlds it create.
Paper is here,it’s never late.
And it helps decide one’s fate.

We carve words in it using a pen.
Or dip in ink the feather of a hen.
My pen’s ink is light blue.

And the paper has white color,blue lines too.
Would the paper be against it?
To be written on oh so clear?

Would it fear me?
If I turned it into something oh so dear?
Perhaps the paper would talk.

With my blue pen as I walk.
What kind of paper would it be?
Blank or watercolor oh so free?

Regardless,I begin to paint or write.
Kinds word or the starry night.
I kept the notebook close.

Writing in it made me let go of my fright.
And I think about it as I sleep through the night.
Blue ink,red ink.

Into the paper it sinks.
My words and my mind sync.
And the paper sang quietly my creation.

In the kingdom,was a ruler one day.
He had a poet he made write all day.
And that poet was me,a red rose garden.

I wrote words to soothe those who cry.
I wrote words that could make you fly.
I build worlds that make you sigh.

And the creatures you can’t deny.
Would the paper object?
To be my pen’s subject?

And to help create new worlds?
It hurts,I know.
When words in your mind flow.

And your problems slowly grow and follow.
But this paper may last a while.
Come on,pick up your pen with a smile.

And you will defeat the evil and vile.
Pen and paper,come on,let’s go.
Let’s write our own world with the feather of a hen.

We won’t let you feel pain ever again.
Living different lives all over again.