Blank Page
A formidable land stretches endlessly into space -
no borders, no canopies over it
nowhere to hide.
Trackless wilderness, strange, unfriendly terrain -
I crawl over broken glass just to conjure
words to fill this page.
I look for big rocks to give character to an uninteresting view -
dream of tall grasses swaying gently with the wind,
gaping canyons, ravines, and gurgling waters.
But this page keeps staring at me, gleaming white -
unconcerned of my sense of urgency to catch up
with Editor's Deadline chasing me all over the place.
Deadline dangles over my head -
a sword served on a silver platter
at the feet of the Editor.
Maybe if I close my eyes, let my thoughts wander aimlessly -
let my fingers do the walking thoughtlessly,
this page will turn into a land of milk and honey.
Or I could implore a blank heaven to pour down manna -
in the guise of words dotting the spaces in this page drifting languidly
lighting it up when night settles sounding the flutes and lyre.
And voila! magical tunes have awakened this page -
breathing life, painting words, and everyone
is saying: the Muse lives here.
@jjote 0815/2015
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