Metaphysical Poem

Flesh to wood and lead scratching the pad,
Words don’t portray this feeling of sad.
Newly sharpened tool sketches fine and clear,
Things are well and dandy; I shed not one tear.
Characters are neat and visibly read,
Nothing’s on my mind as I lay in my bed.

Over time the utensil becomes dull,
As does the clearness in my skull.
The writing is hard to read; mistakes are often made,
The once contentment begins to visibly fade.
Sloppy structure and illegibility begins to arise,
Sadness arrives; again my apparent demise

How can blunt metal be filed once more,
Can gloomy feelings once again soar. 
The blunders on my sheet reflect my heart,
Sharpen my tool; make a new start.
Though the gizmo is jagged and useful like before,
The length has been made, much more poor.