Bad Marks

It began like a whisper

A faint pencil mark

Crawling like a snail

On a purposeful task

Emboldened by the flow

Sharper and dark

Excited by the force

Of lead on snow

Juddering up to a zigzag

Crazed by its own creation

A power unknown

Motion, light - thrown

Then tapering off

Like a decree nisi

Quietly winding chock

To one still, pensive, dot,.

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