How would it feel to be a pencil sketch
that, though it isn’t finished, is erased?
I needn’t ask, for I’ve felt like this wretch
within a feeble, mortal frame encased.
Yet I have felt my life sketch has a point
and even there’s a purpose in erasure
that in the end I feel won’t disappoint
and with a faithfulness in this, I pray, sure
that what appears the end is just a start:
a sketch before a masterpiece of art.
You felt just like a drawing that’s erased
till there is nothing but an empty page
in what appears to be a dreadful waste
of everything from youth to elder age.
At different times, we all will be erased.
I pray that afterwards we will be raised.
Mario A. Pita