The Pencil, The Pen, and the Keys

The Pencil
If I were a pencil,
I would be short and sharp.
My worn frame would be abused and gnawed
By the angst of a wondering mind preoccupied with madness.
My black heart would steer me sure and true.
My marks would be soft but my message strong.

The Pen
If I were a pen,
my stinging words
would ring in the heads of madmen.
My lines would slide swift and deadly.
My worlds would hum like buzzing bees and coffee
On the trembling paper.
My language would explode with passion
and my bouncing blasphemies
would leave eyes rolling and mouths moving.


The Keys
If I were a keyboard,
I would pummel the blank page
until the screen cracked and split.
I would compose the words
Tappity tap tap tap
Like falling rain and dancing feet.
The crumbs and sticky goos beneath my keys
Would tell a story of restless nights
And relentless effort.
Long ago, my backspace would have been abandoned,
for I'd never look back.
Every endlessly searching
Tappity tap tap tap
For my next breath.