Marks on Paper

A faint smell of smoke drifts in the air,

charcoal remnants scatter like thoughts of old,

scribbles dance on pages bare,

memories captured in shades bold.

I found a piece, half-burned, half-whole,

where dreams once lingered, unmade, unfurled,

it recalls the way art can consume the soul,

a fleeting chance to be lost in a world.

In the lines, I search for what I’d trace,

a reason to hold the flicker of light,

marking the chaos, the muted grace,

a yearning heart flickering in the night.