Take this pencil from my face

This piece of paper from my space

I do not feel like writing any poetry today

This writing

Pencil and paper,
primitive tools,
recording the words
of both scholars and fools.

Imparting wisdom,
inspirational seeds,
or

Some call it old-fashion

For many its obsolete

Personally for me though

It simply can't be beat

The feel of the pencil

Pencils overflowing

spilling longing

all over my page

A messy contrivance of

shadow lines unreal

words giving lie to themselves

A marriage of pencil and paper
creates a union which gives birth
to a wailing of words.

Words born from experience...
or not.