My Blessed Pen
By Rich Reith  
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My blessed pen is a sharpened lancet,
The warm, painful boils of war to relieve.
Some read, some cry, some just deny,
For none this ache in my soul can perceive.

My blessed pen is the blackest leech,
Pulling the tainted blood from my soul.
Each toxic drop my pain cannot stop,
Slight respite, each lines only goal..

My blessed pen is the terrible drug,
Shrinking the savage cancer of war.
Terrible burns as my heart churns,
Carrying this drowning soul to the shore..

My blessed pen is the Bessemer fire,
Forging steel out of weakness inside.
As my mettle boils, this mind recoils -
Sweet relief in not needing to hide!!

My blessed pen is an artists brush,
Which bright colors and beauty portray.
The black lump of coal I perceived as my soul
Finally savoring the sweet light of day..

My blessed pen describes all of me,
My life, aspirations and fears.
With every line this man defines,
Why it shall be with me through all my years..

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Copyright © May 2007 by Rich Reith, all rights reserved