He rolled the pencil between his fingers.
He felt so much he wanted to put down.
The paper seemed to be looking up at him.
Waiting to feel the words etched into it.
The tip of the eraser tapped his cheek.
His mind was blank and soon he tapped his lips.
If only a beautiful thought would come.
Something powerful to appease the page.
Finally, he began to write things down.
He described the sun on the horizon.
The way it would peak up over the land.
How it's heat would warn the water and soil.
He said the sun nursed the flowers to grow.
That it embraced the earth like a lover.
Wrote that it sailed through the sky like a boat.
And ran its rays of light through strands of clouds.
The poet smiled with self satisfaction.
His finished product seemed quite beautiful.
He wondered if the paper liked it too.
The pencil slipped exhausted hand.
