Poetry Has Lost Its Pen

Blank is the paper for which I write I write with a pen no more You penned this well they say But all I see is a blank piece of paper In front of me My pen has plenty of ink to write Now they will say you compute this well The well is empty of ink unless you need to print Push a button then all shall see My pen is a computer and not me The written word no longer has flare It has formatting and syllable checking The pen is no longer there we have lost Our Pen and Flare