Dim marks of color, pencil or ink Tilted and stilted, flying, they sink Scribbles and scratches, mere space and lines Onto a surface these scrawlings confined
Yet simple cipherings passions do hide Narrow creations inflate a world wide Grief and remorse, tragedy, joy Hatred and yearning these symbols deploy
All of our wisdom, our visions, our truth Ponderings precious in marks black or blue Joyful achievement and painstaking finds Reason objective and mystical minds
Words that gave freedom and words that enslaved Lawyers and scientists long dust in graves Abstract potential to vivid concrete Hazy horizon and solid ground meet
Who would have guessed it, the simple man-beast? When sitting by fire and eating his feast That curlicues, planes wrought by stick in the dirt They could contain the explosion of earth?