I said:
   I would like to form exquisite things
   with this pen, grow a dazzling rainbow
   from its nib; I would like to pick a rose
   and make its fragrance sweeter, its petals
   even smoother, redder, make the world so
   much brighter, the sky more wondrous,
   make rust turn to gold and the sun shine
   twice as brightly and invent a blacker
   shade of dark;
   to reveal the beauty of Nothing and to turn
   it into Something
   to weave webs of firm gossamer, capture
   truth in falsehood,   
   to dance with words, fetch them from the
   farthest lands, orchestrate a
   performance of sorts,
   survive even death, with this pen
   to dig in, to stir, to evoke, to awaken, to heal
   make thoughts wilder, feelings more intense,
   tears louder, laughter more radiant,
   cross limits reach out speak hear
   to change, to get away
   sprinkle the world with
   eternal stardust.
   And turn it all into
   something
   beyond
   magnificent.
    
All.
with this pen.
And I smiled, silent.

But then you said:
    If you want to write,
          then
              write.