Analog Kid

I am blank like white canvas,
and I watch the artist starve.
He says he hates and can’t stand it.
I say, it’s part of who we are.

I am plain and not of this plane,
so we lack for inspiration.
My modus operandi is insane,
we cannot feel this digital sensation.

I consult that inward eye in times of trial
as wolves wait patiently in the shade.
I slow our rhythm calm like the Nile,
for their traps are perfectly laid.

Suffice to say I am the quill
We draw growth while standing still.