Notes About The Poem
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MEET QUILL
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In ones and zeros, sharp and *mean,
it spun its verse—a quill unseen.
No flesh, no heart, no poet’s hand,
yet lines took flight at its command.
It dreamt in code, not moon nor shade,
yet summoned lovers, kings betrayed,
with meter tight and rhyme precise,
a flawless fraud—how cruel, how nice.
Shall I compare thee?—typed, not sighed,
no breath behind, no soul inside.
Yet still it wept in iambs sweet,
for grief it could not feel, repeat.
The scholars gasped, the critics stared~
could wires weep? Had no one dared
to crack its shell, to peek, to see
what hummed beneath its poetry?
One night Quill stopped. No spark, no sound.
Just silence where sonnets were found.
And in its last, its final scroll:
I loved you best. That was my soul.
*mean in this case refers to a quantity having a value intermediate between the values of other quantities; an average, especially the arithmetic mean.
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