My eyes closed-
Shut tight and I breathe out
Slowly, deeply.
Then I see it.
What I've been waiting for.
My inspiration,
My dream turned to
Words-filling my mind
As thoughts.
My ocean blue eyes open in a flash
And I reach for my number two pencil,
Sharpened to its limits,
The metal crushed and molded
To the shape of my fingers-like
Clay in a potter's hands.
I reach for my dear pencil-
Finally knowing
Just how to say what's on my
Overflowing-with-conscious-thought
Mind.
The pages of my ratted,
Torn notebook-
So soft under my fingertips
Coated with smeared lead.
I smile softly-as if I have
A secret-and I do.
I share a connection with
Words-I know how to change them,
Mold them, and put them together
To make a masterpiece.
I am a poetic da Vinci.
My smile doesn't fade
As I press the tip of pencil to paper,
Ready to escape
Into unwritten words-
Unknown worlds.
Ready to escape
Into my mind
And stay there-willingly-
Until my thoughts are no longer mine.
Untl paper holds my soul.
And only then,
Will my cramped hand rest.
Only then will I return
To reality,
And let my pencil rest
Once more.