I have known the inexorable sadness of pencils,
the pensive nature of the quill. The quiet pink
will of the eraser, longing for things unsaid; the
pull of paintbrush over parchment skin. We write
reams and plant dreams in ivory snow, clack black
and hope our keys will open a vein. We shout in
sidewalk chalk. We spill in strains of salt. We etch our
names in quiet stones, graphite fight ourselves home.
Prompted by NaPoWriMo day 25 .
The first line is by Theodore Roethke. You can read his whole poem here.
I love what you’ve done with this.
I love this one too! ‘The quiet pink will of the reader’s has to be my favourite phrase of the day.
love the ‘graphite fight ourselves home’. That’s just what it feels like sometimes…
Oh you have captured so beautifully the artist’s need to express. Love how the artist becomes the tool of the pencil/eraser/etc, and wonderful use of internal rhyme.