Sketch Book

Pure sheets of woven threads,
Housed by a crusty coffee marked cover.
If a picture is worth a thousand words…
A page has a million stories to be told.

The light ‘skritch, skratch’ as the lead moves across its skin,
Every mark on its bleached face sparking fireworks in the unconscious,
Carving the graphite deep into its flesh,
A pool full of ideas splashing out onto each blank spot.

All recorded into each blank spot of its expanse,
Like a vintage black-and-white movie coated over its matte surface,
Imprints of the soul engraved into its core,
Memories thick like sticky molasses run down its length.

Like water, my ideas run,
Feeding the buds of blossoming thoughts
On the endless vastness
Of my little sketch book.