The Doodle's Dream

I sit on paper lying down,

wishing for a golden frame.

Wish the absent hand that formed me

had more skill or more ambition.


What my lazy swirls could be

is haunting as two empty eyes;

at times I sense my maker’s will

and feel her reach through me for more...


But more won’t come and here I sigh,

the unsuccessful, disenchanting ... ;

Silent tears leak through my form -

is Fate always so cruel?


Oh, the care with which she draws me!

Surely that should be enough!

But art has meaning, I have none,

and notebook-bound will I remain.


Here I sit, so numbly staring,

blankness spreading everywhere;

I wish for magic to release me,

Doodle with my painful dream.

The End

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