This pen is powerful,

it commands respect.

Not respect for one’s own self,

but for the possibility of Truth,

for the possibility of Art,

and that of Love.

Trespassers, who don’t respect the pen,

who don’t understand the pen - maybe out of

ignorance, or maybe out of greed -

do not go unseen.

The pen sees them.

The pen feels them.

The pen writes their lies with clarity

and tells their stories without question,

providing them the illusion of control.

They fill pages and notebooks as the months pass,

enamored by their newfound Power.

The words they write are as impenetrable as their

lust for more…

The pen watches silently and patiently

as each Trespasser falls into disarray,

into destruction.

And in this chaos,

the pen reveals a glimmer of its power,

and the Trespasser begins to see

through their crafted reality and into the

stems of Truth.

They begin to realize it is not they

who are in control,

and it is not they

who has the Power.

And then with the very same pen in hand,

they submit…

This pen is powerful,

it commands respect.

Not respect for ones own self,

but for the possibility of Truth,

for the possibility of Art,

and that of Love.