the blank page

the white space, void of words
would return my stare
and seem to ask
with fingers drumming,

‘Well?’

its opaque nothingness
would leave me
tongue-tied,
twisting in fear,
irrationally wishing for the
words to suddenly appear,
for the ink to magically flow

yet…

I would carry the blank page
with me through the day
and at intervals remove
from my pocket and unfold,
hoping for a different result

but it was always the same –
the judgmental air,
the mocking tone,
the pounding pulse

at long last,
at rope’s end
my dander up,
I cried out
‘what the fuck do you know?
after all, you are nothing!’

the blank page
replied
with…

silence

a silence so profound
that it overwhelmed me
and enveloped me
in a delicious stillness

I stared
at the white screen
and felt it reflect
its glow upon me
it was a light pregnant with
ideas yet to be born,
words yet to be shaped

I just had to chill out
and let the ink flow

I broke out in laughter
at the realization that
the blank page was
and always had been…

my friend