The Ominous White Page

This is a poem/reflection I wrote on August 10th 2014 when I was having writer’s block.

The Page

Just darken the page. Its blankness stares endlessly, the game already lost. You blink in defeat. Maybe tomorrow. But the page will be waiting. As blank as ever. Ready for a rematch. But it’s only a blank page.

The taunting and mocking you hear are in your own head. Voices of the past and fears of the future. Silence. Nowhere good to begin, so start at the end or the middle. Who needs a beginning anyway?

Drop us into the heart of action and intrigue us. Mesmerize us. Grip us before our minds become as blank as the page. An empty void.

Did you ever think about the page being lonely. It’s quiet and still. Nothingness. It wants to see. Only you can open its eyes. Only you can give it an experience. Let it hear the soft jazz of a blind trumpet player.

Let it feel the frigid water of a flowing river.

Let it see the blood-red sunset fading softly, like a candle dying, then darkness.

The blank page is begging to experience life. Make your mark.

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