In kitchen drawers a secret lies
my pens once lived in helpful guise,
but now utensils hold sway like fate
and my pals are gone, without debate.
Inky hearts that once flowed free,
now silenced deep in drawers, you see
my dishwasher hums as this story unfolds
as I have an enigma that feels untold.
Perhaps in saucepans they found a home,
among the spices where creatives roam,
or maybe with the knives, I tried
a cacophony of cutlery where pens might reside.
A culinary crime, I say!
My pens have vanished, gone astray,
from mug to mixing bowl they flee.
A mystery, this writing spree!
Perhaps they dream in sugar bowls,
of sonnets whispered, filling roles,
Or hid amongst the baking tins,
imagining forgotten sins
of over-written, heartfelt lines,
where feelings bloomed like morning vines.
No more the graceful, flowing script,
just empty jars and paper clips.
I'll raid each shelf, I'll turn the place,
until I find your inky trace!
So, if you see a pen or two,
in the kitchen's hold, with story new,
just know it holds a writer's dream -
lost in this kitchen's flowing stream.