A Writer's HandA Poem by MehWritten for a school assignment. Worked out pretty well, assuming only had five minutes to write it.
I could dull a pencil in a minute,
sharpen it ten thousand times an hour.
Run my hand down lines to fill many pages,
but not draw a single flower.
A writer’s hand, I possess,
a magical part of my being.
A writer’s hand, I must keep,
for it is my only way of freeing.
It’s basically all I’ve got left of this world,
though I sorely don’t mind
that my hand is what expresses my thoughts...
though not all are always kind.
But life isn’t always this bad
and I know this fact to be true,
because a writer’s hand never lies about what it writes
and it writes of all the good times I’ve enjoyed too.
It writes as I remember,
the days I spent playing catch with my brother at the park
It writes quickly as I recall
the times when came home to my dog’s cheerful bark
It records all the memories
of trips I’ve gone to foreign places,
To far away lands destined for me to come back
to find life’s familiar faces.
So I won’t give up this writer’s hand;
It’s forever mine to keep.
I love it more dearly than anything else
for it sticks with me through short and deep.
I won’t give up this writer’s hand.
I love it to much to let it go.
‘Cuz now I know the true value of my own writer’s hand
is to pass on its talent for all to know.
© 2010 MehAuthor's Note
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2 Reviews Added on September 30, 2009 Last Updated on May 20, 2010 Author
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