Poetic Purpose

Paper, so fragile, so delicate
Stronger than anyone I've met
Holding on to all my woes
As on and on and on I go

Pen so steadfast, so rigid
Attentively helping me spill my head
Ready for war, for love, for all
In precision, in chaos, the letters fall

One by one the words are slain
As they are conceived inside my brain
Given life through flowing ink
Eternally into the paper they sink

Thoughts of love, of lust, of woe
Through intricate layers, thoughts unfold
How many pens have I sacrificed
How many books slain, to feed this vice
How many ideas, insanely profound
How much heartache have I put down

I wonder if ever there comes a day
I'll put my pen and my paper away
A day in which the beast is slain
Or at the very least, is tamed

I'm sure I would despise such a time
For I am the pen's as it is mine
The paper and I are also united
We are one, no need to fight it

Should the day come I rest my pen
Then comes the day...
                          ...my story will end