If the pen is mightier than a sword,
A pencil is a kitchen knife.
And while the sword is used only in battle,
The knife is used in everyday life.
The one end piercing as a pin,
The other unapologetically chewed,
When enlightening words pierce from within,
The Buddha it’s end bites.
It draws, writes, prints, strikes out,
Creates at times nothing but doodles.
The cyclones of confused thoughts,
Deranged, knotted, swirled like noodles.
It resides in my pocket, reliable as a body part.
It has its special place, right next to my heart.
In my hand a slave, of humble servitude.
Has yet to rebel against me, Oh darn, it broke.