Put pencil to paper
Your thoughts, ideas, images
Flow from your fingertips
Absorbed into the lines
Traced on the page
A drawing, a poem
So much meaning
Somehow, from nothing
Everything becomes
Someone who has never met you
Never seen you
Never heard your voice
Will live your dreams
Your inspirations
Just as you did
When you created them
But these marks on paper
Are none of these.
Where, in these lines,
Are the things you envisioned?
Where hides the soul
You poured into this work?
To seek it is pointless
Nothing is there
Only graphite
On paper
Ink
On dead wood
And yet…
And yet…
What visions.

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