Sketches of Life

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I have sketched black lines on white walls-

With one charcoal piece broken

By force from my own soul.

I drew a cruel teacher in childhood:

Her nose sharp,  two nasty eyebrows

Intimidating the seven year old me.

Cruelty became easier to sketch as I grew

Older, there were many around to stare at.

One black smudge for a woman’s comment, barbed

With envy and mockery-

One slanting cut on the cheek for his snub

That slashed my self confidence;

Oh that scratch? That was for the man

Who dared me to dream beyond him.

Then that stroke with a deft hand

For a dream that turned sour,

For betrayal and for pain.

That last curving line you stare at..ah,

That one for the love that came quiet

And standing gently by my side,

Asked for my piece of charcoal

So he could complete one half

Of a smile I had started and left

Long, long ago.

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