To command a pen, to glide on a page.
What freedom there is that you can control.
The will of the wind where it would,
The current of a stream, refreshing, refined.
A power to command kingdoms,
Your will is the law.
A written page forever spoken,
Lies rebel fire or flooding rain.
The ash of death or washing away of the voice.
Endless wonders invite the pen.
Tell the serpent’s tongue,
Or light of a song sung true.
Speak in fact. Speak the textbook.
Or speak in clouds of swirling wonder.
The power to revered,
be sure to show respect.
Lest a fear of condemning eyes only stare back.
To stare at the blankness, the power is yours.
Choose a median, forever to stay,
Or choose a choice that could be wiped away.
Sweet song, simple poem, words of a story.
There is much there that shouts out to be heard.
You must be the one to form the words.