Pen

The first time was the strangest

As the cool desk chilled my sides and paper tickled my feet

But I found my purpose helping the hands that held me find theirs

And upon the pages I danced

Led by the grip that warmed me

So many hours were spent

White pages no longer pure

Then there was the night I felt empty

And from me the ink no longer spilled

On the table I lay static and cold

But by purpose was fulfilled