The Ballpoint Pen by Colin Reid

A ballpoint pen, how like untimely death,
Permanent as the loss of a loved one
And rigid or pointed as their last breath;
Make one mistake and it is over and done.
An uncapped pen, nude as a person's corpse,
Ready to be mourned at the cost of ink;
Black or red or blue, and apt pen doth warps,
It touches without the forethought to think.
Yet while one creates, the other shatters
All that would strive to live and thrive this day,
Such as the dreams formed by what most matters;
The will to write without prolonged delay.
And yet the ballpoint pen doth make true fault,
While death is accurate with each assault.