"The pen is mightier than the sword"
- In general, I guess that's true
But mine's a lazy blighter;
It treats sloth as a damned virtue

 

It's not the liveliest of beasts
It's always at a halt
It likes staring at blank paper
As though that's the thing at fault
 
It lives a charmed sedentary life
Full speed is torpidly inert
It charges around at the pace of a slug
When flat out and alert

 

My pen possesses zero 'nift' -
I can't fault it for being too nifty
Its' sweet repose is a full-on doze
And thinks saving ink is thrifty

 

It's scintillatingly steady
So passively at peace
Unchanging in its' inactivity
Like a grazing wildebeest

 

So languid and so supine
As it munches on my thought
Remaining ever restful
Seeing hibernation as a sport

 

It's frustratingly calm and fixed
To the point of being plain dull
And that's when it's being lively
It's worse still, when in a lull

 

But now and then I drag it
Out of its' latent, dormant air
Force it to get some exercise
And treat my thoughts with care

 

Often it’s quite useless
It's rare for the spark to light -
But when thought and pen work as one
Well, that's the time I write