Vestiges

Their Pen

42 Their Pen They have just one pen Who points to a den With hungry lions infested Dreaming he’d be ingested. Yet, the pen stands its ground With his ink, have lions drowned In a sea of steel strong words Throwing lions overboard And with his nip like a spear Does prick bringers of despair And turns its back from power Cherished by misery grower Which does himself see a goad Thoughtless to all he’s a load They know not what to do with; Was he thus groomed in the heath? Does poets’ pen not tell us this? “By the den, there is no bliss.” ...