The Pen Is Mighty

My pencil flowed
Across the page.
Without asking
My permission.
It drew a girl. 
Dancing to midnight.
On a starry beach.
Her wet twirling
Footsteps a pattern.
Step step towards
A sheltering cave. 
Oh I knew so sadly well.
That place was haunted. 
By nothing but
Death and pain.
My pencil stopped. 
And all I could do.
Was stare in horror.
At this scene I had
Given life.

Oh Dear

Two lines.
Hard drawn.
Hard wired.
Cant make them,
One.
With any effort.
Parallel,
Is a good word.