I am a pencil (André Deschamps)

I am a pencil

You hold me tight

With your rough hands

So I can write

My tale of love.

I am a pencil

Others regard

A mere utensil

But touch my eyes

The heart of the leaves.

That is my prize:

To leave my mark.

I’m just a pencil

Anxious to write

Something that might

The hearts ignite.

 I have no rubber

On the top of my head.

Even my doodles

Are meaningful.

Alas! I’m a pencil!

I’ m torn between

what has gone

and what’s yet to come

The more I write

the more of me I see

The more I write

The less of me is left.

The more I write

the more I need

Your sharpening.

Yea! I’m a pencil!

I have to move on

For fear that you

Would not hold me

Anymore, for fear

That you would leave

me, lonely, useless.