Page 10 - Contrast1991FallCarpeDiem
P. 10
The Crayon
Thick quiet settles on the room,
Blossoming minds are pondering,
Overflowing with simple thoughts
Not caring where they're wandering.
The girl besides me - she holds a crayon,
Its waxy point is dull and black;
She drags it hard across my skin,
My eyes well up; I turn my back.
Not wanting her to see the tears.
The rivulets run down my skin,
I try, but cannot hold them long,
They burst out time and time again.
She holds her crayon and smiles and laughs,
The black mark etched into my arm;
And though I cry, I am still young
And do not truly know of harm.
***
Her laughter still rings in my ears;
I wonder why I lost control,
And sigh, for I was lucky then _
Sometimes the marks can stain your
soul.
Jonathon Boehman
10
