One more crumpled mess- tangible token of
Rejected imperfection, placed strategically
To remind me that caffeine and loud music
Do not make an artist. I touch the page
Still feeling the breathe, the pulse of a
Masterpiece waiting to be born.
My pencil hovers pregnant with my dreams.
The music separates me from the chattel of the world.
I wrangle my thoughts, prepare them, align them
To trample orderly onto the page.
Crescendo, my pencil now a frenzy to
Lead the images into a recognizable form.
I stop in the silence of my mind.
I admire the view. I tip my hat to the
Creation before me.