Ode to Pen and Paper

a poem by Franklin McCoy

Though thee; I freely speak,
My thoughts, words, deeds
I enumerate.
This last resort of mine, how immortal!
Most divine form of expression,
This foremost cerebral substitute;
A rapture for tears, echo of the past, angel of pristine blithe.
The seed, the fruit; food for immaculate thought.

In monochrome; I pen, I plan,
The wild, the sad, the nostalgic, the future.
A spectrum I cast; most perfect replica of my days,
Adrenalizing by sight,
It is nothing but my life, my hope,
This evergreen tree of black dropping leaves;
Which with every drop; I kindle, I gain
That great art; powerful art to writ.