P.O.P A depiction of words that are left unsaid, I cower behind this magical ten, That has lips, that can speak, that can carve its way through, Every man, every girl and all children too. And no matter how long for it hasn't been used, It's powers are felt from the greens to the blues, Analytical reasoning noted neatly with time, A feeling, a heartthrob, jotted down on the line. With the pendulum swing we desert ink and quill, For robots, machines, made from plastic and steel, But for all we are helpless to travel within, The power that comes from just holding a pen.
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