MY PEN WROTE A WILL

My pen wrote a will and bequeathed me all it would ever write
Left to me, birthright, stared at my left hand thinking it could never write.
But I wasn't right because my bequest was too much for my right.
It glided on the sheet beneath it, drained more life from within, it
Said of my obtrusive nature it throws flak on my back
And though intrusive to my stature, it's got to rebuke me for that.
It reminded me what it had always told me to do; reach for the stars
Thus precipitating thoughts of me being the first poet in Mars
Unconceivable? That's why this art is something out of this earth.
It gave me the ability to circumnavigate the globe with one line
Like latitude and be 'ub-ink-uitous' like a North-South longitude
Omni-paper, its modus operandi, always present on every paper.
It bled black and thus on this will, letters left from its serum
Waltzed on its nib thinking it was doing headspins on its cranium
Then through an incision in my forefinger it poisoned my cerebrum.
Started thinking how I'd die for my pen, then everything went silent
...for a minute thought I was dead and then before dying, my pen
Scribbled down that it felt like a pharaoh
Because these here words, would be immortal.