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The Pen – A Poem

Nov 4, 2020

This is one of my favorite poems because, well, I’m a writer. I believe I wrote the poem in college when taking a bunch of English theory classes. The big question “Is the author dead?” really made me think about the power of the pen and the creation of words that I immediately disown when I put them to paper.

What do you think?

The Pen

With a mind―

My mind.

(I gave it away,

didn’t you know?

It’s called suicide.)

I gave myself up

Before paper and pen.

Paper became the oppressed;

Pen became the ruler―

The tyrant.

And I became the deceased.

The pen wrote.

It moved.


I gave it my life.

Would the story

Be of a knight

In shining armor,

One who would come

And free me

From this death?

I wait…

For the pen

To lift from the canvas.

The pen speaks.

The book,

The slave,

Accepts the pen’s declaration

With folded arms,


And hoping

For deliverance.

And I just watch.

I write.


The author,

Dying a little

With every word.


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