Richard W. Reith
MY BLESSED PEN
My blessed pen is the blackest leech,
Pulling the tainted blood from my soul.
Each noxious drop my pain cannot stop,
Slight reprieve, 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 yearning to hide!!
My blessed pen is an artist’s 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…
©Copyright May 2007 by Richard W. Reith
Author’s Note: Inspired by a discussion during late May 2007 in the IWVPA Club about poetry; its healing powers, and the part it plays in the lives of the IWVPA members.
Tony: It is such a measure of this community how a simple comment about the value of the range of poetry here can create such a long discussion that goes wherever the writer’s heart goes. Even in emails, the poet’s heart and pen cannot be denied. Each of the interchanges adds to our understanding of each other. And not a word of it would have been created without your hard work keeping it going.
“My Blessed Pen” was written for you,
Rich: May 26, 2007