Pen

It sits there,
Motionless,
As if though waiting to be lifted from its resting place,
And once again be made to race those lines,
To write those words it once wrote,
To remember those times it once held.

Black is its color,
Although being an absence of color,
It still shines brightly on the white paper,
Allowing it to be more than just an absence,
With it, it becomes much more than just that,
It breathes life into a lifeless object,
Bringing forth those feelings the writer feels,
Bringing forth those stories that will inspire young and old.

Prophet-