Chapter 25 : Poetry : Those colour pencils

In that box, lie those beautiful colors,

My memories stored in each hue.

A rainbow compressed in wood,

Dreaming of the day it can be free again.

All I needed was that one box,

Cause it always brought me joy.

Those colors painted my emotions,

Revealing to me the essence of creativity.

To sketch, to trace, to shade,

From rough ends to fine points,

They touched my paper with each stroke,

Leaving behind art and a thoughtful mind.

These wooden sticks recorded my imperfections,

Guided my hand, helped me grow.

Each color held a story,

A glimpse of who I once was.

Some are too small for my hands now,

Remnants of a time I’ve outgrown,

Whether fully or partially,

They still remain a part of me.

No matter what,

Those color pencils brought a happiness,.

Nothing else could ever match.

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