As mine eyes scan these written
words, tears of horror running
down my cheeks, I am smitten
by your bright color. Your cunning
and adept talent to correct all
mistakes with a swish
of your point is not a small
feat. No other utensil can wish
to reach the magnitude of your red
ink's power over the words
meant to be read
by teachers and students, jocks and nerds.
O! such a possession could only be
given by the great god of war
to eliminate a great enemy.
Like a powerful force feared far
and wide, you sweep down upon your foes,
spilling their blood in your quest
to correct the insurgence, which arose
against your command to arrest
those who disobey your royal
decree. No one can hide
when you begin to hunt those who are disloyal
to your laws of grammar and sense of pride.
Even when all your red ink
has flown free of your casing,
I will sit quietly and always think
of the times spent praising
the good and changing the bad.
Memories of the smell of your color as it dries
and the smooth feel as you add
your marks to the page will bring tears to my eyes
of fond remembrance. Though years
will have passed, praises to you will
still be shouted when errors premiere
and I stand upon the holy hill.