The present,
Merely a composition of elements
Thrown upon the surface
Of the leaves.
My veins are pronounced
As I attempt to depict
An accurate portrayal of a void.
My blood rushes
With every wave of my obsidian wand.
Days pass,
And I remain with scribbles
Of broken figures
Lost within the barren wilderness,
Abstract and dominant.
It always seems as if my colleagues,
My fellow employees
In this quest for survival
Can differentiate the images
Of their personas
From the heavy shadows
Of the trees.
They gain perspective
As I grasp my pen
Struggling to stroke.
Maybe in time,
I can find beauty
Lying within this rough sketch.
There is always a chance
That finer art can be recognized
Through the crossing lines
And the snaking curves.
Possibly you could help me
Finalize my draft
And mount this display of confusion,
Currently looming within the darkness.

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