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Ink of Nature
December 16, 2013
I see stretched blue lines on white, empty stone.
Holding the pen firmly in my thick, rocky palm,
My mind, like impenetrable vine pleads to come forth.
Pulsing blood rushes through to rosy fingertips
Already wet with the bubbly morning dew of purpose.
Oh, how I can’t wait to create my perfect piece.
Like hanging limestone in a forsaken cave,
Pictures float in my head with a story to reveal.
Cautiously, I send my delicate dreams south
Somewhere soft and Godly great
In hopes that a chatoyant miracle may happen
Upon this pasty wall of ideas.
© James C., Dallas, OR
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