The Line Of A Pencil

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If we allow ourselves to be free
will my drawings speak to me
free of shame
or self-imposed blame
Not all lines speak
from memories deep
from staring at our toes
to echoing early years of ‘nos’
If we allow ourselves to be free
will my drawing lead me through the trees
to follow the path hidden by the shade
to raise my pencil and sharpen its blade
for a pencil can lacerate
or draw a line for bait
causing us to think we are frauds
in truth, we are just a little flawed
There is no choice or well-conceived plan
for when the crow calls we run to where it began
some call it having the mind of a child
I prefer to believe, we never gave up being wild
even if it means being exiled
IMG_8873july 9 2018
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Wonderment

 

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in life, there is yin and yan

the anticipator, the reactor

a leader, a follower

two sides of a coin

day, night

hot, cold

good, evil

wet, dry

rich, poor

happy, sad

extravert, introvert

must there be 

balance of all that is

so all may be

 

what if the rain rose

took to the sky

would we hear it hitting the clouds

would there be pools of water floating in the sky

with prisms holding rainbows

what if the season change

is actually the world in flip

for when I look at trees

across the fields in the winter

they look a lot like exposed roots without the ground

could our world be

made of two

living each day connected by the soles of our feet

always having the opposite living at the same moment

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