What I Feel When I Write
My paper is milky white
empty and willing
like the night is dawn's canvas
majestic, so is my backdrop,
wanting the words, the story to be complete
my pen jet black
longing to transcibe
seeing the letters fall magicly
my hand dances, Suza's Waltz
merrilly leaving behind my voice
my reason, my ryhme
If my life were a nookbook
one blank page at a time
and my pen was fred astire,
taking me back in time
my paper will be blank at the start of each new day
so no matter the outcome I will always have a say
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