Outlet

My pen; Is the source of my greatest power, Conveys my deepest private thoughts, Translates the speech of my spirit, Utters the voice of my very soul, Thus is my most precious tool. When I am sad; My pen may be likened to a lost orphaned child, Wandering aimlessly through the woods at dusk, Exposed to the cruelty of this unfeeling world, Helpless cold fearful and knowingly unwanted. It drips sluggish tears of ink across the page, Dragging itself with what little strength remains, Desperately seeking and end to bitter sorrow. When I am happy; My pen is an uncontrollable fluttering butterfly, Skittering quickly quavering across pure paper, Touching down so lightly with seraphim feet, Much penned up energy impossible to contain, Excited ideas poor forth like ambrosial torrents. When I am angry; I unleash the rabid dog that is my weapon, It launches itself forth with ferocious haste, Scratching and clawing out loathsome words, Shredding paper betwixt slavering locked jaws, Its breath is heavy with the odor of blood lust, Hungry for vengeance and a taste of the enemy. Sweet Catharsis; Criticize me not for committing my thoughts to paper, Scorn me no longer for sharing my feelings thus healthily, Generously give instead credit for self-control and creativity. Would you rather I go about spilling tears down upon my cheeks, While depressed unwittingly bringing down the moods of others? Or shall I act upon the ugly desires that anger may conjure, Behaving recklessly deliberately injuring those around me? Though happiness and excitement are meant to be shared, Even positive emotions must be kept in gentle restraint. So leave me to my great escape my personal outlet, Do read enjoy and admire my prudent craft, And if the fancy strikes you some lonely day, Empower yourself with the greatest tool known, Pick up an all mighty pen and write!