My Pens: A Writer’s Confession

Published June 7, 2012 by Kristin

Brahms’ Lullaby plays, fading into—

Bert: Good evening and welcome to this hour of “Mother Goose Children’s Theatre,” bringing you safe theatre for your bedtime stories.

Not Goldilocks’ favorite animal

Which is like taking Goldilocks on a hunting trip in the woods. I’m your host, Bertolt Brahms.

Today, Sweeney Todd announced his retirement. No longer a barber, he has decided to write his autobiography entitled, “Sweeney Todd: the Poet Writer of Yeats Street.”

Tonight, our broadcast will only include the prologue to this book, which you can pick up at your nearest bookstore. Each book includes an autographed fountain pen.

Such sweet selection!

And now, the prologue–“My Pens.”

These are my pens.

I’ll them now christen.

They will be mine

With my name scratched in white.

My pen.

My faithful pen.

Speak to me pen.

Whisper… I’ll listen.

I know I’ll write

In the dead of the night

Till you ache, like me

My pen…

Sleek and shiny

Well I’ve come home

To bring you paper.

Home,

And we’re together.

And we’ll do wonders

Won’t we?

You there, my pen.

You there, my pen,

Come let me hold you.

Now, with a sigh,

All the ink starts to warm.

My pen!

My clever pen…

Drip raven…onyx

Rest now, my pens.

Soon I will use you.

Soon you’ll bleed inkspots

All over the page

Till it’s done,

My manic pens…

Till now your ink

Was merely blackened.

Pens…

You shall drip onyx,

You’ll soon drip raven…onyx.

Completed arm!

AT LAST MY ARM IN COMPLETE AGAIN!

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