How Pensive the Poet

How pensive the poet who writes by the pen The stubbornness found in the gender of men The tortured young male who lives in the past Who probably purchased some “white-out” at last You probably think when you suffer and ache That writers improve when they make a mistake The point of it all is the point of a pen The perfect excuse to start over again The pencil is easy when you need a fix The rubber you rub at the end of your sticks But writing a poem is the path to your soul A promise you make when you practice control A fine type of writer would probably do When pounding the keys in a minute or two But doing the laundry is no fitting muse For penning a poem in the color of hues The keyboard is key to the ease of your use I choose it myself when I shun the abuse The poem that you get is a fine work of art A triumph of love when you aim for the heart.