A Lost Sketch Worth your Time

Mollified beyond belief,

I reach for words.

To express my anger, confusion, wrought despair

Like a tiny gnat on a world map

Lost.

I write.

Sketch. Sketch. Sketch.

I sit, ink in hand

Scrolling letters

Lines, feathers, peacocks, and apples.

With my fine tipped brush.

With my lifted quill.

Sketch. Sketch. Sketch.

I think of life

And what it’s dealt me.

I think of distance, love, and struggle.

I write to compose my own justice.

I write to attain my own self-liberty.

Sketch. Sketch. Sketch.

Poetry, pastries, words, ink.

This is what I've accomplished so far.

What next?

I reach for a star

Plucked from the Heavens

I swear it seems that far.

To swing into the metropolis of cinema

Seems a far cry

A small dilemma

I cannot go there

I would struggle and lose hope.

Could inspiration and creation carry me that far?

A small dreamer.

I lift my quill and tuck it tightly into my pocket.

For another day.