A Pen’s Writing

A pen’s writing striving in vain,
For hours and sounds in a plain,
It builds future, describes past,
From earliest moment to the last.

It writes of me, it writes of you,
Of things I know and like to knew,
It strives, truthful and rebel,
It creates words like in Scrabble;

No points, just magic in the air,
Magic of joy and of despair,
A humble soldier in his fight,
Be it morning, be it night;

It creates worlds I never knew,
Worlds you’d maybe someday view;
It doesn’t matter in the end,
Is just the magic and contend.