I'm sitting in the darkness with nothing but a pen

After writing for hours the pen has run dry

This pen had produced hundreds of thousands of words

These words were mighty in number but weak in readers

My life's work stood in front of me but not even I could read it

I wrote in this darkness but I didn't even know what I was writing on

No one tried to pull me out of the darkness

I had lost my voice ages ago and now my pen

My only way of expressing myself was gone

I sat there holding the inkless pen

I could pretend to write, no one would know the difference

But instead, I just sat with holding the pen near my heart

Hoping the ink or my life had not been wasted