The Fight
The pen is supposed to be mightier,
but the futon mattress rises to challenge.
Click goes the pen
while the mattress chuckles.
It stretches like a cat, unfazed,
and shivers against imagined cold.
The pen stands stiff, a sentinel
against this shrewdly biting air,
its nib is eager, black blood dripping,
but the spirit weakly slumbers,
desperate for imagination promised
by the dreams that may come
upon the greedy bed.
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