Friday, August 15, 2014

white space

for each day and each thought, with all that they brought
would just calmly linger. 
so much that i felt, unbeknownst to anyone else,
the very moon was my only trigger. 

and blank pages would sit, untouched and unlit
for hours and hours on end.
stared at, they burned; to fill them i yearned.
but wordless pages you cannot amend.

so quoted i remained, from new words i refrained
for fear of being misread
although i know well, that the stories i tell
leave me entirely once out of my head. 

so reality or not, or loosely made up
i stand by every word
regardless of interpreted text, of this boisterous mess
make of it whatever you choose. 

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