this pencil is my savior, it is my voice

this pencil sings of lost love

of lost hope

the tree of life that grows

the garden of the dark fruit

this wood; it is my paint brush that

caress’ my soul, that soothes my heart

and whittle’s away my time

this pencil, this withering branch that

I sharpen and point toward the East

point toward the past and point toward

the gates of history

it is my mast that floats erect

on the swells of the ocean

traveling toward the shore

lightened with buoyancy

lightened with poetry

this pencil is my savior, it is

singing my tales, singing my songs,

singing the voices of hope.

© [Jeanette Shihadeh] and [thepainterspalate.wordpress.com], [2012]. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material, artwork, or photo’s without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to [Jeanette Shihadeh] and [thepainterspalate.wordpress.com] with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.