[POEM] Symphony of Sketch

 

Fingertips, a restless tide, across the page, with ink as guide.

No ruler's edge, no measured line, just instinct's dance, in form divine.

A symphony of charcoal sweeps, across the void, where shadow sleeps.

From lightest breath to boldest stroke, a world awakens, from its cloak.

 

Mountains rise in jagged grace, trees whisper secrets in the space.

Oceans swell, in rhythmic sway, stars ignite, on wings of clay.

No click, no scroll, no screen's cold stare, just canvas bare, and fingers there.

A vibrant echo, whispered true, of life's own pulse, in me and you.

 

So let the ink in rivers flow, let chaos bloom, and beauty grow.

For in the dance of hand and line, a universe, in sketch, we twine.

And when the symphony is done, a world complete, beneath the sun,

we stand in awe, with senses keen, a masterpiece, in hands unseen.