Blank Page

There’s something about empty spaces that spark Fire in us, like one with noise cannot. Like the calm before the storm, a wild heart Is chaos, adventure, of battles fought. It kills people by the hundreds, and then some; It saves thousands from pain and despair. All while the artist is stuck in a drum -- Like a box in a museum, they stare. Be us animals? We don’t mean you harm! The creator of distress suffers more, Famished, exhausted, alone, and disarmed - As the storm rages on beyond their door. All that suffering, trapped in a cage, Caused by an artist who saw a blank page.