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About the Poem

I sharpened a pencil for 5 minutes, just wondering why I was doing it, wondering why I needed to do it. I have since come to believe that all things have a mind, or at least a voice, kind of like some Asian originated religion. There has to be a reason for everything, I think.

The Pencil

Broken beyond belief, he seeks aid.
Grating against the symbiotic benefactor,
He improves his life, he makes himself useful.
He leaves behind his past in a small unobtrusive pile.
Sharpened beyond belief, to again leave his mark upon the world,
The pencil slowly pulls away from the sharpener

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© 1999 Philip Zemler Please respect the rights of the author and Passions in Poetry. If you would like to use this poem on your own web page, please contact the Author. Thank you.
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