It feels like eons since the last that you and I shared
stories about our imaginings, and them that have made us kings. The last that I relished your presence was
hours before this very moment, but the last confiding encounter has been found
wanted as my fingers clinch to the ebb of impulses of rushing streams from my
hand to my mind.
The seductive forces spawned by your combination, at times,
bring tears to my eyes or better yet, a glimmer in my soft grin in a flitting
scan of your message path today. The
narrow and sometimes wide spread lines paralleled, you commanded for direction
and composition, brave and noble paper, pay good and accepted ransom, by the
blue, black and occasional red pool of glazed material ejected by the sprout of
the mighty funnel, the pen. It is called
this by many but clutched in the hands of some, it possesses far beyond the
value and weight of a king’s command, a far valued material fashioned in
flames. It is mightier than the sword and it is seen in the articulation of
speech and the construction in a well written script.
I have seen how brave you have made speakers, heads of
places and even how Presidents are in delivery.
How tall they stand behind a podium or alter, and there on its setting
you rest silently charged and reflecting what words their lips will discharge
from you what was once oblivious in their seeking minds. A catalyst that catapults a nation’s address
is what you are and never, I believe, do you Pen and Paper want anything in
acknowledgment, if luck has it you are recycled into your aberration.
There is a great deal that authors, poets and scribes owe
you, or rather, the readers of the text, rich in its virtue, that you pen and
paper have culminated over years in these writers minds. A generation has been altered just by the
very voice that you gave the speakers that quote your very protrusion in
papers and pages in books dear pen. This
is only seen in the history books that publications have found so dear and so
profound to let Today know about.
There are arts that are more inclined to sound too, but have
paid reference to your subconscious being in being an art in your own existence. The fusion of thought and abled limbs,
tarsals and phalanges have allowed the quill and the parker to impregnate the
harvested and reformed tree, be paper, to give virtue to those that sourced it
out in search of expression. Body soul
and mind have been made whole in your greatest publication, the Bible and yet
still your work is still found needed in the technological age we are found in.
Oh dear Pen and Paper, am I that privileged that I may set
my visions on your never ending path, a fortress to them that cannot find any
virtue in beings and a documenting platform?
Whatever it is that you do, I pray that the God of the Heavens sees me
worthy to be a source of your manifestation.
