Happiness in scrutinizing a pen

I choose to marvel that my writing utensil has faded.
I disassemble it into pieces, thinking of the machine that made it.
Then I laugh at the thought of the purpose for which it was created.
That company would never guess what their product would make.
A medium for an odd college student's thoughts and musings while awake.
I always am surprised, amused, and amazed -
For the rhymes and the words that I write, do seem quite crazed.
How long will this poem run? I haven't a clue.
So to all who have read thus far: The end is not in view.
Oh, you may scroll to the bottom of the page.
But now that ploy is shot, by my falsely omnipotent gaze.
I knew you will attempt to do so, when does not matter .
Maybe I am wrong; But on with the irrational prattle!
I started this to make your day.
Concerning a mere pen,
Something we've all thrown away.
But what fills the pen is not just the ink.
It is the potential that it can unleash.
It can open worlds as it touches blank sheets.
It can make the old youthful; give the literary suckling its first taste of meat.
It can fill temporarily a thirsty soul.
It can take power away, or restore control.
It can change minds, causing them to yield.
It can inspire new workers to enter the field.
It can start wars, intellectual or real.
It can cause even the apathetic to feel.
It can expose old wounds, revealing scars.
It can heal them as well, given an open heart.
It can loosen the tongues of the mute and the shy.
It can make speechless the lugribrious, their mouths to grow dry.
It can do all these things and beyond.
But it starts with a pen, a pad, and mind waxes fond.
Memories are triggered by the slightest of stimuli.
Books were the beginning of storage for you and I.
When cheap pens dry out, the tube is a waste of ink.
They are carelessly tossed away, and replaced in a wink.
Where such tools originate does not occur in students' heads.
Pens come complementary from business instead.
As for me, I've never paid for one.
Finding a replacement is easy and fun.
Merely walk into any convention.
Whether it serves geeks or millionaires does not merit mention.
At each booth, you always will see.
A row of new pens! There just for free.
Oh, how you might cackle.
How you might smirk.
People might think you a jackal,
or merely a jerk.
But they will not bother to withhold the ballpoints from you.
They will grin and bear it, knowing that their day is filled with others like you.
A joy from something so fleeting like a pocket of pens.
It may appear irrational, but it makes the world worth living.
'Fin


You might learn something new about me, tucked inside the lines of this impulsive written spree
Hopefully, this aimless letter in rhyme
Might spark you into thinking deep.
Farewell, until next time.
Now it is the hour for me to sleep...