"Pencil" a poem by Andrew Larsen

Pencil

Scratch

Scratch

Scribble 

Scratch

I am

-scribble-

being drained

-scratch.

As I regain consciousness

-scribble,

I find myself in the third person

-scratch,

Looking helplessly at my thin, long, wooden body

-scribble.

I embody humanity’s

-scratch-

ability to create.

The consequence is

-scribble-

I am drained with each mark.

Rigidly, a human grips me and

-scratch-

marks the paper with my tip, 

creating, pouring, embodying their feelings in my blood. 

Scratch, scribble.

Crack.

I feel it as if I am being broken apart, 

shattered. 

My 

lead

breaks.

Despite the power I hold, I am still fragile. 

Roughly, the human thrusts me into a box of metal and begins to

sharpen 

me,

draining me further,

while providing me a use once more.

Scribble

Scratch

Looking at what I am making,

-scratch-

I see evil.

In the hands of a powerful figure

-scratch-

I can do terrible things.

Easily bent, 

easily broken, 

easily used.

Crack. 

Back to the sharpener.

-Andrew Larsen, freshman