The Poem and the Pen

The pen was busy,
writing a poem.
It would be an oracle,
A well of understanding.
A Creative and wonderful;
loud and star-gazing;
comet-tailed collection of words.
It would amount to
the collective wisdom
of all that had been
written before it.
It would answer all questions,
meet all fears,
dispose of all problems.
And as this mighty stanza
reached its peak,
the pen began to scratch,
running dry,
out of ink.

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