Ode to the Eraser

Written by CJ Burkey.

Updated: 2017-02-22

O, thou fine eraser, with your bright white color, shalt thou protect me from the mistakes which I have made?

Remove the errors which would haunt me forever, glowing red in my mind, the melting pot of broken ideas.

Your outside shows some wear, the color of gray faded in, but wilt that stop thou? If so, thou art not as strong as thou seems, but thou art.

Upon my paper lies a random squiggle trying to pass itself for a word, shalt thou help me?

Of course! You never fail your task so long as it is written in pencil, yet another savior of man. As you work you give off the smell of rubber, not a bad compromise, as I see it.

The paper, an essay due in a fortnight, might as well be finished rather than restarted for a simple mistake, a flick of the wrist too strong or the curve of a letter to shallow.

Ten days, a gift from god himself, sits itself gently between now and the time which I am meant to be finished, but lo, I am already half way there.

Little pieces of you fall off, as a dog sheds its fur. You sacrifice yourself for the bettering of the worse.

You, O great lord o' paper, do not fear being empty, thou fears the fear of those fearing fear, the closing in of darkness on sanity as a paper is rewritten the sixth time.

You, a simple, but marvelous invention, separate us in the modern day from the days of savages writing in a dark, black, permanent ink that smelled as if it was dunked in seawater before its usage.