Hovering

Hovering

 

I love to draw

But I can only draw one thing.

The pencil hovers over the mocking blank page

Circling slowly in thought. In anticipation.

The circles start to show themselves,

Piercing the blankness with their darkening presence.

In their simplicity, they could be anything:

A ring of smoke, an enlarged pupil,

A glossy marble, a bottle cap, a letter �"

No. They are always the same thing.

Faced with an infinite number of possible futures,

They are always what they’ve been �"

The foundation of a faceless facile flower

Glowering up at me in disbelief at my inability to see

Possibility.

 

And we �" are we so different?

Do we look at each day and see

The limitless lanes we can drive down,

The boundless boulevards we can stroll along,

The seemingly faceless freeways that we can bring features to?

We are all that frustrated circle,

That sedentary flower

But we don’t have to be.

If we just peel back our stubborn lids to see

The hovering possibility.

Reviews

[J Johnson III]

Very nice write. Thank you for sharing. Also, I really enjoyed the title.

[Charly]

thank you :) really appreciate it