Chalk

White, hard and cylinder in shape,

Dusty beneath my fingertips.

The small piece of chalk

Lies on the wooden ledge.

Above it the blackboard stretches across the room.

I hold the chalk in my hand,

Feeling the endless possibilities.

I can take this one piece of chalk

And write a scientific theory,

A mathematical equation,

I can draw a picture on the black slate

Or write my name for all to see.

I hold the chalk inches from the board,

My mind thinking of the creations that lie within.

I start to draw a long line,

Then reach for the dusty eraser from where it rests.

Today is not the day to imagine,

I drop the chalk back onto the ledge.

It shatters as it hits the wood,

Just like my dreams.