.::-:The Den of the Last Angel:-::.

Scratching of pencil on paper
With the power to make something beautiful appear in its wake
As the images flourish on a sheet of paper
A vivid ideal begins to turn over in my mind

The depth of pouring one's soul to a page
And the shallowness of the billionths of an inch the thickness of it was

Ordinary lines merge and become the extraordinary
Becoming what they will
And becoming something (even if unintentional)

The simple elegance that bleeds from a drawing
Of only paper
And only pencil

becomes perfection in your eyes