Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
I drew an old man, with beard like mine--though his face had more wrinkles deep lines of age are hard to draw   my pencil bore down at the center of those creases like I was trying to leave a mark that wouldn't fade or trying to carve something from nothing piling lead upon lead, on paper that couldn’t protest my adding of years, with a dull number two         when my pencil was but a nub, there were more years yet to add   by then, my hands were weary my eyes blurred I had no blade to shave the wood     from the shaft     to make more eternal marks on white space
0
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 4:51 PM UTC
pencil and paper
I drew an old man, with beard like mine--though his face had more wrinkles deep lines of age are hard to draw   my pencil bore down at the center of those creases like I was trying to leave a mark that wouldn't fade or trying to carve something from nothing piling lead upon lead, on paper that couldn’t protest my adding of years, with a dull number two         when my pencil was but a nub, there were more years yet to add   by then, my hands were weary my eyes blurred I had no blade to shave the wood     from the shaft     to make more eternal marks on white space
spysgrandson
Written by
American
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 4:51 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem