PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

They really think its talent that they are some great artist born to be. Every time they bring another pencil or marker down upon that canvas they think it’s them creating the beautiful peace of work, but its not. It actually the pencil, don’t say it’s the marker or the pen cause they don’t do jack from shit they come on the paper over us. We lay out the first few sketches upon the paper. We are the very structure of each picture, or the very sketch that determines things. The talent lies within our mystical led. It seems theses so called humans can absorb our life force and wear us dry. Most of my kind is gone with the older days, died out. I’m one of the original pencils, I date back to 1843. You see the ones made in factories now, those are cheap useless pencils they don’t have the essence of the creativity. Corpses of what was, my brothers and sisters recycled and compressed. Nothing made of reel wood and led anymore. I am the last of my kind. The thing is with each time they grind away my very being, they take a bit of there own soul with them. Eventually they die with me. Now let’s get to the story where it all began.



I had been sitting under the glass of an old antique shop for sometime. Dust had gathered over me and I sat next to some old soda bottles, called Pepsi, I swear this guy never shut up he was 40 years old, you think after 40 years there would be nothing to talk about, it was always about how he came to be and how he was better then someone like called coke. On my other side were some graphic novels though. Some were called” The Green Hornet”, “Batman” “Spiderman”, and at last”Superman”. They were gorgeous all the time and effort some put into them must have taken hours and they were only 20 pages. People don’t really stop to appreciate the time and effort put into it but I had about 60 years to appreciate every single one.



It looked like the store was being sold and the manager put every item on clearance even me. Me of all things I could create sublime works of art. His loss I guess. This man came in by the name of Jacob Keller. It seemed that he came to clame the graphic novels.  He had excitement and joy over his face. When he saw them the first Spiderman sold for 30 dollars. The manager didn’t know much about the graphic novels as you can see. Then when all was over, he was about to walk out then he noticed me, he pointed at me through the glass. “How much?” he said. The shopkeeper said 2 dollars. I was like WHAT THE HELL. I’m over 100 years old, the last of my kind and I went for 2 dollars. He handed me over to the man and he put me in his plastic bag.  As I walked out Pepsi was crying, good riddance to the annoy son of a bitch. I heard that he ended up in the trash heap at the dump a little while later I kind felt sorry…..for like 5 seconds.



When I got to his place he left me on a drafting board with a whole bunch of newbie’s. I felt soooo old. But still awesome they were all in awe of my wisdom and superiority. “YO grandpa get the hell of me” said one, yea only one..dont as if anyone else poked fun or ill poke you till you cry.  It wasn’t that bad of a place, I had a clear view of what they call a television so it was fine. Home sweet home.



It was a week before he used me, but when he did he could let go of me. I was glad to be at least a foot away from those younglings. Plus it was good to be able to use the old led again. He kept say this is the best work ever and it was. He was creating it seemed the first original graphic novel in about 50 years. Each one today seemed to rip off another storyline or special power, plot, a recreation of the same character or evil villain. But this, it was gorgeous. I was glad to be the creator of such a beautiful piece of work. It was going to bring home the bacon.



2 years and 50 graphic novels later. It was now a nub. Worn down to the very tip, and so was he. He looked worn thin; mine and his time was almost up. I was just about to be used up on the final sketches of the final part of the story, but then my tip broke, and so did I. them keeled over onto the drafting table with the final chapter of our graphic novel finished and each of our life’s too.







The End