My hand dragged across the page, scrawling
Graphite (concrete carrying ideas,
what world does this create?)
The page beckoned for my form,
my lead to fill its void.
The spirit of imagination embraced
the space on the page, the still white waters.
I need more light, but found no light;
But this still was good.
Words expressed begat concepts,
the passion that moves us, which
is brought forth abundant.
After the dream is reality,
following its kind.
I saw this was good,
and that is just fine.
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