Narrating A Pencil

Creation at its tip, formed in the black

to foil the tree whose branch branches out

and leave leaves to grow outside, where the hack

and slash bring down one more for advances.

A 2D shape that can tremble a heart,

Or push a yawn out, towards its maker,

thus stands this stereotype they call art,

The type that makes a neighbor a traitor

All is made done by the creator's tool,

Their source of cents, built by their sense,

By their emotion that fulfills as fuel,

Like train engines: whose power is intense

But what of the mental mind behind lead

that forms my voice and forces me to read