Pencil

Some call it senseless
To write a poem
That doesn’t rhyme.
I call it liberating
To be free of conventions,
To maximize potential,
The ingenuity of possibility.
A pencil that dances
Is a mind that explores
Every angle of a memory,
Leaving traces of truth
On a surgical atlas,
Locations excracted from soul,
Scribbled out of chaos, into order,
Bending time to the whims of chance.
How free it is, to write from the heart,
To write what you know,
Without worrying about the rules.
The pencil that roams
Through cracks in the structure
Often finds the weakness therein,
Gathering unseen support
For emotional destinies
Undetected by measure and reason.