Inkless Intentions

I found it today, a pencil, its tip worn,

abandoned and blunt, like dreams left forlorn.

No eraser to soften the lines etched in thought,

just graphite and silence, the weight of what’s sought.

I picked it up slowly, considering the weight,

as I pondered my thoughts that sometimes can wait.

What stories were waiting, what words to unseal?

this lifeless old tool feels heavy with zeal.

But it carries a promise of thoughts never penned,

a vessel for wishes that might never end.

And I clutch it with care, this instrument bare,

as it sits in my hand, a weight we both share.