Thoughts and ideas run back and forth;
Thinking, thinking, and thinking for a artistic pleasure.
As the eyes scan a rectangular shape of emptiness;
All white like snow and barren of a wasted space.
A pencil sharpened to a point lies nearby;
Endless possibilities of creative images await.
With cautious care,
A lead tip glides across the blank space.
Precious care and minutes pass by;
Anticipation of the final product.
Pressure becomes apparent,
As an outline begins to take shape.
Lead line too jagged quickly erased,
If only memories were that easy to erase.
Repeated the line again with near perfection,
Although perfection is never in the cards.
Outline of a face appears in the white space;
Still empty with no identity to identify.
Repeated sharpens of a pencil and rough surface of sand,
A face slowly arises from the flat surface.
Shades of its skin, hair, and facial features;
Give the outline more than just an outline.
A portrait once so lifeless begins to come alive.
An identity becomes apparent.
A slight of fingers blends the rough edges;
Creating a smooth appearance of our creation.
The pencil is laid to rest nearby;
The creator's eyes scan the picture for imperfections.
Once a blank space is now a masterpiece of hard work and dedication.
Wonder as I wonder what does Posh think?