The Pen

The pen hadn’t been worth it,
pretty as it was.
Why I didn’t know it, at the time,
I’ve asked myself throughout the years.
Dark blue with white-and-grey marbling
swirled throughout the resin shaft
alit my mind to imagining
Smoke in a glass
Ink in water
Oceans of other worlds…

The pen hadn’t been worth it,
smoothly as it wrote.
It was the cap I lost first;
still, it worked.
It was easy to lose;
didn’t hug the ends tightly.
But, when i left it, abandoned it
mistakenly, to be adopted
By a librarian
By a patron
By anyone other than me…

The pen hadn’t been worth it,
much as it cost.
I wish I’d have known, at the time,
when he shattered my heart.
Should have assessed his vituperations
more keenly.
It was I or the pen.
And, to him,
As in All Things:
The pen was worth far more than me.

Quarter Crazy Marathon – Q3
September 18, 2021 9am – 9pm

Prompt 8:

Open or close your poem with “The pen hadn’t been worth it”