Pen to paper is the only sound,

As paper and ink are quietly bound.

Paper reflects the curious light,

As ink smudges from left to right.

Nothing but ideas in form of shapes,

Scribbles come when there are small mistakes.

Some see these words as grand lies,

While others see greatness in disguise.

Started as nothing, but now seen as tricks,

They’ve come to be a part of major politics.

Paper and ink used to be the only sound,

It lead to bombs being dropped to the ground.

People hold their heads in heavy stress,

Wondering how things got to be such a mess.

The world is corrupt and starting to sink,

To think all of this is caused from a little paper and ink.