it started with a simple scribble, a line on a page.
I was given it when I was young,
told to take care and create it into something beautiful.
an almost unmarked sheet awaiting its future.
they began scratching
and shading,
marking the print.
the slate is now altered, far from the same.
parts of the page are torn, the corners ripped.
although it is difficult to make out
the original comes back, sometimes when i squint.
i wish the image would have been
differently drawn
maybe if i find the right artist, (you),
you could remove some of the marks and somehow erase the permanent pen
so for the moment--i hope they can all let us be
just take my hand, and draw the lines of life with me.
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