When the Illustrator enters
It signals the need to observe one's own will
As their pen strokes paper
So does intention stroke reality
When the Illustrator enters
Thought is given outline
And outline is given shape
And shape is given substance
And substance is given form
When the Illustrator enters
Light bends about us all
The vibrant colors of our empathy
Wraps prismatic around those we hold dear
When the Illustrator enters
They grasp imagination in their hands
Dream is a medium they've mastered
Hope sits on the tip of their tongue
Intention becomes a gentle stroke upon our history
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