Determined to discover how long I could use a pencil,
I sharpened a new Dixon pencil on September 6, 2017.
Being so long, it overbalanced my hand,
banged into my computer screen,
threatened to knock over my water glass.
It was an unruly pencil.
When it was stolen, I wanted to allow it to roam,
be cut down to size before I accepted it back into my hand,
but I had accepted a challenge. I tracked it down
and branded it as mine so if it charmed someone else
with its slender longness, I could point out my claim.
As months passed, it accepted my grip;
we were old friends sitting around a campfire,
telling whopper stories, happy in each other's company.
Like all of life our time grew short;
I held on for as long as I could.
Some say I hold on too long, but this was my pencil.
See the scratches on the yellow paint?!
Almost gone now with all the sharpenings.
It's gone today.
I mourn the pencil I struggled with early in life.
I mourn the pencil that desired someone else's hand.
I mourn the pencil that realized it had a much longer life
with me than anyone else. My pencil is gone.
After over nine months my new pencil is gone.
Time will pass before I accept a new pencil into my hand again.
Many pencils desire the extended life I offer them.
One has waited almost nine months to be my next pencil.
Long live my pencils!
By the way I sharpened this pencil down to a little over 2 inches
before I decided I couldn't handle it any longer.