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Open Poetry #39
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Titia Geertman
Member Ascendant
since 2001-05-07
Posts 5182
Netherlands

0 posted 2007-01-01 07:33 PM



I was sitting at my desk and while sharpening my pencil
my thoughts wandered off into fantasy land.....


I see this world as a box of pencils
Somehow shaped alike, but unlike all the same
There's black and white, the greys and coloured
They all have souls, but a different name

Their souls are witty, with great intelligence
But intensive use will trim them down
Once in a while they need some sharpening
Or in a stumped sea they will drown

Not all souls turn out to consist of good material
Again and again they keep breaking off
Something's gone wrong when they were created
Maybe a short circuit in the energy stream of love

A few could be safed, but others were lost forever
Too many interruptions resulting in faul play
All they could come up with was a crooked line
Which made so many deep scarves day after day

Bad material should be thrown out and never be used
But in the good one's heart there's always hope
That's why we're still living with stumps of evil
We crushed some real bad ones, with the rest we cope

Like scattered leaves...my words will flow

© Copyright 2007 Titia Geertman - All Rights Reserved
S Arthur Grey
Senior Member
since 2001-03-19
Posts 719
woven by a poet's loom
1 posted 2007-01-01 08:37 PM


A very interesting pencil world.
Enjoyed.

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