This isn't the very story you read about writing or drawing,
It's a relation between two objects,
Where people see them as just temporary things,
But in my eyes the story behind them is perfect,
It's about a pencil and an eraser,
Where one's the bigger person,
He erases the other's mistake,
Yet gets no credit for what's done,
The pencil keeps drawing and gets all the praise,
While the other is just forgotten,
While his job is to just erase,
He erases and erases and fades itself part by part,
And he convinced himself it's just a phase,
That maybe people would have more feelings to impart,
Towards a small little piece of rubber,
Maybe they'd give a piece of their heart,
Like the pencil draws on the piece of paper,
And the eraser rubs it away,
But it's always the pencil that's greater,
So the eraser remains quiet and does its job,
It erases and gives itself away,
It believes the pencil faces the same,
When it sharpens it's tip and it's lead is grey,
The eraser believes it's a playful game,
With no hard feelings whatsoever,
The eraser doesn't ask for fame,
It just fades away,
And later when it becomes small,
There comes another one,
When rubbed against the paper it has the remains of the pencil's mistakes,
And a part of the eraser is gone,
But the eraser doesn't mind when the pencil's tip breaks,
It watches it get sharpened like it's newly bought,
And the eraser devotes itself to the pencil once more,
Guiding it through its mistakes,
Although the pencil gets all the praise,
The eraser never complains.
