Pen, paper, poem.

As my pen touches the paper,
I know naught what to bleed,
The white sheet pleading,
And I looking back helplessly
And in between us stands the pen confused.
The paper so pale and timid,
Only will is to live.

As my pen touches the paper,
I provide words,
I provide emotions,
I provide life.
I gave a part of me to it.

As my pen touches the paper,
With words I fill, emotions flows,
With the pen being my sword,
And paper being the battlefield.
The words are me,
I, who fought and won that war.
Oh! Dear paper,
Soon I would be far gone,
But you, are to see the world.
You would be a treasure.
Everything would be destroyed
But, Oh Dear paper, never you.

As my pen touches the paper,
It burns,
And let the fire explode the paper,
Today, Oh paper!
We are one.

As my pen touched the paper,
I bleed,
And thus, a new poem began...

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