A Desk

It started out new, shiny, and clean
Through time it grew dark and dirty
It has shared its surface with many
Changed for each one of its guests
Morphed into something that’s different

Anger turned it into a carving surface
Now it is marred with deep lines
This object became a soft bed for the tired
Became a good place to rest

It was a cold surface for the hot
In the summer those where many
It was a stable surface for the studious
This morphing figure became a place for penciled sketches
That’s when it became a field of flowers

It was loved, it was hated, not cared about by most
It became trash after years of service
It became forgotten, this object of many forms
Replaced by a clean slate for the process to start again