Pens & Pencils

inky swoops and curls
black blood spouting from a pen
permanently making or marring
the blank potential
tattooing the paper 
with your words
your letters are beautiful
neatly elegant cursive
they don't fall and skew from the pressure of the page
 i am not one
who can do what you do
my words are wide and innocent
the letters not quite matching
a reflection of my character
i admire the silver graphite
that stain my fingers with gray
when the pages close
and as they age
they stain the other words
and become the messy print
of an aspiring writer
the whoosh of your pen
brings tears to my eyes
while a smile touches my lips
the stagnant words are ever changing
yet their meaning, a pillar that stands
throughout the planes of time
as thousands of copies on loose leaves
take flight and soar
fluttering into our hands
raining upon the world
a thousand threads connecting
each of us to one another

but just as your words are lasting
mine will fade away
into the whirlpool we call time
the silver will age into gray
and one day only smears will remain
the ashes of a young girl's juvenile letters
but I hope, from these ashes
a writer will rise up
who can take a pen in hand
without a doubt in her mind
that her traces of curling ink
will leave lasting touches
and weave heartstrings together
such that her words are more than letters