My Blank Page
Raindrops race down my window,
like tears from a sky with no reason to smile.
Lightning dances across a blackened dance floor
whilst the air claps it's hands in thunderous applause.
An old wooden desk sits sulking in the corner,
scarred with echoes of journals past.
A dimmed light is staring in to my mind,
a blank piece of paper mocking my every thought.
Sometimes I'll sit for hour upon hour
searching through a tangled web of broken ideas.
My pen is eager to spill it's blood on to the page
yet my mind sits in shadows too afraid of the light.
A police car hurls past on the street below,
the anthem of the night is hitting it's chorus.
Sirens ring out to signal another hunt in the shadows
as the scent of blood sends the chasing pack in to a blue lit frenzy.
Yet still I sit with nothing to say
whilst a cold beer has slithered it's way in to my hand.
I feel the icy chill tumble down my throat,
maybe it will be fuel for a thousand thoughts.
Music...
Good evening Mr Miles Davis and welcome to my blank page.
My mind begins to relax now
as a light shines in to the darkened void of my thoughts.
My pen begins to flow,
finally unleashed from it's wordless shackles.
My thoughts pour on to the page
like the rain that falls from the tearful Heavens.
Finally now my mind can rest,
as I slowly enter a peaceful slumber.
A myriad of thoughts for a new day
and if not?
Well there's always Miles Davis.
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