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 |
| by Philip Zemler |
| 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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