This Pen

In my hand its a mighty weapon striking out to claim for me rights which are my own. It builds my character fresh each time, let it run with blue blood, true and honourable. I watch the lines form into something I have no power over, mine, yet not mine, yet of me. This pen, this my friend transports my thinking onto paper and gives me a name. At last I have a place in this world, a niche carved out with ink and written down.

Mixed bag