• Life is but a pencil.
    As I write this,
    My pencil is becoming
    Shorter and shorter.
    Eventually it will be gone.
    Eventually all life will be
    Lost forever.
    As this pencil dulls,
    Age strikes at me.
    As I sharpen the pencil,
    It still becomes even shorter.
    A blade is cutting
    Away at my soul.
    When I finish,
    All that will remain
    Is the eraser.
    The only thing I
    Can do with this
    Is to get rid of everything
    I wrote.
    To erase all memories
    Of the past life.
    The pencil then is used up,
    As is life itself.

    -G O L ii A T H