Pink Clouds

Pink Clouds

Drifting across a white sea

Sweeping away doubts and mistakes,

Giving room for a second chance.

Dust gathers around it

And it returns to the sky,

But mistakes are still visible,

Trails and dots of black and grey.

It works tirelessly and endlessly,

Clearing the way for new ideas,

For a much-needed second chance,

It works in silence.

Small yet efficient,

In many different shapes,

It leaves only hints of what was,

Soon to be covered by something new.

Then the marks will come back,

And form a picture,

A painting,

An image.

Slowly but surely,

As it’s used more and more,

The cloud starts to wear down,

Soon to be replaced.

Technology on the rise,

It’s used less and less.

Instead of staying in the past,

We use the backspace key.

It was once a wrong answer,

Now it’s a blank slate.

It works well against the pencil,

The job of an eraser.