Sketches of Clarity

In margins of notebooks, the graphite smudges,

a silent scream, a hand in the rush.

Drawings of stars, of dreams, of fear,

yet the ink slips, each line seems to hush.

I sit here, pencil trembling in hand,

each stroke a struggle, a chance to stand.

My right hand wrestles with shapes and forms,

but it’s the weight of the thought that warms.