I was your tool.
My internal juices flowed onto a sea of white, the elixer forming your thoughts into words.
But now, I am stuck in the drawer of your desk, waiting for the day you bring me out once more.
All you seem to use now is a field of letters, typing away like its your reason for living.
I remember the days when my kind as coveted. We were treated with respect, love, we were even cherished.
I was your voice when you couldn't speak.
I was your thoughts when you couldn't think.
And this is how I am repaid?
Soon, we will be extinct.
You will no longer need us.
We will be a whisper in the wind.
A rumor in the back of your mind...
or what will be left of it.
Author notes
option 10.
in the perspaective of a pen.
A contest entry
- Options, Options, Options and PW allowed! by PonyPride.
950 points, ended September 10, 2008, 33 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
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