The pen I hold is my wand.
With one motion of it,
I create something
hauntingly beautiful.
Aching sorrows,
juxtapositioned
with romance;
darkly romantic.
Script seasoned
with the Gothic,
and the surreal.
Dreamy and nostalgic.
How is it so?
Blending opposites,
bridging them
until they’re sensical.
My pen, my friend,
knows more of my thoughts
than any other person.
A friend that cannot speak,
but understands me.
It does what I command
and does not lie.
My pen has no free will.
A recorder for my mind.
While memory fades.
Whatever it writes,
the memory is immortalized.








Beautiful…
Beautifully penned, Daniel. Excellent write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian