My life is like a pencil Not even half used, Yet eraser mostly gone. As I try to eliminate The mistakes I have made, The lines begin to smear And smudge into an ugly blur. It is getting dull. I am here making marks And marking again another start, Something that is pointed sharp. If too sharp, then to snap, Only to be sharpened again, As sharp as these words are now: I fall upon the thorns of life; |