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.
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