I am lying on a bookshelf, unused and uncovered. 

Among the pages unwritten and some work undone.

I was called a mighty pen, once.

Powerful and brave.

I fought many battles and won many raves.

What happened to my soldier, my guide, and my friend? 

Some called him a poet and a man who made many dents.

Did I run out of ink?

Or disappoint him with my workings?

I swear, I tried.

Moved fast to rekindle the old magic and bring him some light.

Alas! I lost.

And together, we lost the might to fight.