To The Drawings In My Drawer

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: March 17, 2019

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Submitted: March 17, 2019

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To The Drawings In My Drawer

 

Lead scratches in pale facade

That time recalled - when I was God

White tinted yellow

Harsh lines smudged mellow

Parchment paper perforated

Folds and tears at the edges, signed and dated

Oh I remember these

Pages of my memories.

 

I remember you, monsters of my leisure, sketched in to temporary permanence on faded eight by ten. And there you sit, too, creature of my mind, fantastic and bold - the kind of dreams I had back then. What about you, from edge to edge filled completely with black lead, now dull and graying, but ah, your beauty was always in the shading.

Open another drawer, a file of my past, this is an ocean of the things I love, black and white and vast. I remember silver graphite staining deep my skin, where one hand would glide together with sharpened creations end. Small pink shavings blown away, small imperfect mistakes we'd just pretend that we didn't make, they just add some flavor anyway.

I remember clear the smell of fresh paper newly made, and brand new books as blank as babes, ready for lines to be laid. You all take me back, as you find yourself in my grasp again, and when I stare you stare back...you remember just the same, after all, in the corners you bear my name.

 

Texture smooth feels rougher now

But that only seems appropriate somehow

As I trace each line and I remember

When in my hands I felt creations burning ember

Flip through my legacy in notebooks worn

Imagination lives there in pages torn

Every line and sketch a unique endeavor

Young emotion captured forever

 

Each mark made, and every scratch

Every line, curve, and cross hatch

You are memory in physical form

And a reminder, who I was when you were born

 

I'll pick up, between my fingers, creation once again

Staring down at what I can barely comprehend

Sheets of aching empty space

One stroke cuts the void, creating in its place

I wait eager to see, as the nothingness I mend

What this memory will be in the end


© Copyright 2019 Farren N. Keys. All rights reserved.

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