The Emptiness of A Page

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The emptiness of a page,

is the necessity for the leaking pen,

and the ear for the heart’s voice.

 

The quietness of my rage,

is the obligation of mine within,

and the minds inspired choice.

 

Each moment of patience,

becomes an eternity without words,

and each line that must follow,

becomes other voices screaming to be heard.

 

I carve my thoughts,

until their sincerity has become to life;

my eyes observe them breathe,

as they move across the empty space of white.

 

Some choose to stay, and other’s leave their nest,

it is as if they’ve grown wings to fly,

and must find another’s burdened chest.

 

A thousand miles away,

one can touch what I’ve given;

one line becomes a key,

and enters their own prison.

 

To fill their emptiness,

and give sound to their silence;

to speak to the voice they possess,

and become their alliance.

 

The emptiness of a page,

is the necessity for this leaking pen;

it unleashes both my heaven, and hell,

but frees me within.

 

Photo: Winter photo of WB

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15 responses to “The Emptiness of A Page

  1. I really enjoy when you write about your passion of writing. Your words speak volumes:)

    i like the photo – very artistic – has a bit of a graphic novel look to it. I think i am thinking Watchman. (I am a big hat person)

  2. Thank you. Yes, I always enjoy wearing my hats in the Winter. I suppose it does resemble a bit of Watchmen. LOL. Didn’t think about that.

  3. One of the things that still surprises me is how, though we often think we’re the only one feeling what we feel when we’re moved to write, we aren’t. This made me wonder if balancing reaching in and reaching out is possible and why community matters so much. A poem full of questions rarely asked. Thank u.

  4. There is always each day or night, that time where words beg to find their birthing process to begin, where I as a loving parent open my mind to the peace which surrounds it, and allows their lives to begin…the many words that paint a picture of sadness and joy, pain and bliss, or peace and happiness. As years pass and changes in life are endured and one really accepts and loves who they are, though you are still attached to all around you, and though you have walked in many more shoes, you feel and write what touches you and moves you more…what you find within your own soul that nourishes your whole. For we are unique and one of a kind creations…and that makes us special…and you are special my brother, I love your poem. I remember when we first met, I told you I will more than likely leave comments when move to…and with you like many others I am always move to because of what you share! God bless!

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