The pen presses to paper
which gobbles the ink
the travel is endless
the sights, divine
Reality doesn’t matter
borders have no meaning
Time plays no part
Identities slip on and off
like a bevy of party dresses
that flutter in a flurry of indecision
The pen is freedom
a voice of descent
That can pass through walls
small minds
the hulls of ships
the bars of prisons
the airwaves
virtual universes
prejudice and bias
skin color and class
wealth and poverty
Through gaping maws
and the eye of a needle.
Its cargo, ideas
opinions
imaginings
dreams
new points
from which to view
A flame
eternal and
hope everlasting
