I wrote this for a class assignment, but it turned out alright, and thought I should post it here
Indeed, it is quite a story
The pen being my will
And the words claiming its territory
A soon to be worldwide thrill
The ink to paper gives me a voice
For I do not speak ever so often
And it gives me the rejoice
It speaks silently, giving me a safe haven
Like the painter and the brush
I cannot go about without my pen and paper
My mind being like a 'lone thornbush
That voice disappearing like vapor
Though safe, and comfortable, it leaves me unheard
Linger too much, and I become a soundless songbird
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