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spysgrandson
Poems
Apr 2016
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
#death
#art
#mortality
#aging
#bio
Written by
spysgrandson
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