Spoiler
Link for the contest I'm entering this in is herehttp://www.youngwriterssociety.com/contests/viewcontest.php?id=63 Please, check out the link for the contest and then see if you can guess what I am basing my poem around.
The small long, skinny object lay forlornly,
on the crisp, new sheet of paper.
Waiting to be picked up by a hand,
just waiting for someone to experience the joy.
Lying nervously waiting,
impatience a common flaw.
The scribbling flurry of a writing,
the joy that the wand knew one would experience.
The ink is a soft, royal navy blue,
simple yet so perfect at once.
Just waiting for one to capture the beauty,
that he knew one could create.
The end had several bite marks,
from the previous one, the creator.
Initials written carefully on the end,
the mark of the creator, the one that captured beauty.
Waiting for the mad scribbling,
the warm feeling of delight.
The creator enters the room,
tossing his rucksack on the floor and groaning.
"Tidy your bedroom, now,"
orders a higher pitched voice.
This is greeted by more theatrical groans,
he walks over to the desk,
excitement washes over me.
He screws up some paper and chucks it into a black basket,
his hand wavers over my head.
He picks me up curiously,
remember, creating, I pray.
He examines me and then tosses me into the bag,
I fly through the air and land dizzily between a tissue and a bit of gum.

