long and lean
strong as wood
but giving out bits of me
on to the page of history
until I must be sharpened down
with cuts and blades whirling around me
so that I become effectively sharp once again
in order to give out bits of me on to the page of history.
The process continues: giving out bits of me and sharpening,
giving out bits of me and sharpening as the wood is whittled away
and all that is left is that tossable cold metal shell where the eraser once stood,
and the long and growing story of an instrument directed by the Author's hand in HISstory.
(An online friend suggested a poetry writing challenge, and these were the instructions:
"For this prompt, you`ll come up with a poem about an object that describes you. First, choose an object. Next, list down the reasons you think the object you chose represents you. From your list of reasons, which one is the most powerful? Which one conveys the strongest image of you? Once you`ve chosen your main image, list down things that support this main image. Build your poem from there.")