PencilA Chapter by Peregrinator7based on a true story
Writing this poem
This pencil writing worlds Into existence. Play god Lifeforms People, their stories People never to exist Or maybe they do, unintentionally With the common face Monotone, maybe boring or Colorful-- WILL YOU BE QUIET IM WRITING A POEM Humanity, faith in humanity versus The dark forces, absences and corruption Table flipping and kingdom come. This pencil Broken and imperfect Pouring everything out-- I take my heart and Rip it from my chest, Slamming its bloody complexion On pure, snow-white, Lined paper Pencil mops the red mess up for me. I had one, the end broke off It was a blunt end But the other side It drew people and words and blood and tears I pressed hard, I used it at its best Til the very end When it snapped in half. It now sits on a shelf In my room Retired from its violent days-- I went and bought one just like it Just like it, It broke in a week But I won't give it the same Fate as the last one. Tape bandages its wound. (Maybe I overworked it) In its battered state Writing this poem This pencil This green broken pencil The skeleton key That unlocks the surreal--
© 2019 Peregrinator7Author's Note
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1 Review Added on October 26, 2018 Last Updated on February 12, 2019 AuthorPeregrinator7Seattle, WAAboutAn absent-minded maker (I do art and music too) with a strange obsession for birds of prey. more..Writing
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