Pencil Marks Across a Worn Page

Pencil graphite- no longer lead

left on pages- no longer clean

bleeding grey- or maybe black

like spilling thoughts- or maybe dreams

calling out, and washing over,

leading gazes to, perhaps reluctantly,

focus once again-

on an ode, a rhythm, a piece of passing prose,

completely, it seems, unplanned and

as expected as a chiseled crater in the side of a die,

rolled down the board

Perhaps it is in the margin of work, in a different tongue-

or the same tongue,

long forgotten but for the present, but for the overflow of

indestructible design despite the eraser-

and, of course, one cannot forget soon forget the font:

helvetica, cambria, trebuchet, perhaps?

Or, more accurately:

gleeful, abstract, lusting, pained, serene, wrathful-

these are the true fonts with which

some unexpected graphite happens to tumble-

and draws a curiosity

Reviews

[Yari Garcia (Older Prof..]

I really loved this poem! One of my favorites that I've read so far on Writer'sCafe. Kudos! You are very talented!

[Color of the Iris]

This was a very interesting angle to observe writing on paper, lol. Every detail was very deep, and you could almost feel the thoughts protruding from your own mind. This was a great piece, and I enjoyed reading it a lot. 100/100

~ Iris ~