"a Poet's Hungry Paper" |
By Sunnyone |
My pen is slowly falling to the vast white sheet below... no rhyme or reason sets it's course, no map it's guide to show... The ink flows down by gravity, unwary of it's pace... The paper smiles back up at me, with starkly bleached-white face... I tempt my pen to doodle, but the paper wants for more... It craves the letters, marks, and scrawls that fill a writer's lore... They dress the paper in a web of literary lace... then spread these lines of poetry upon it's waiting space... Now and then the words appear as if by unseen hand... Sometimes my muse is feminine, sometimes it's masculine... But always it is welcomed by the paper waiting there... It swallows each emotion, and it doesn't seem to care! As hungry as the paper is, it's limit soon is met... The words and thoughts from mind to pen have filled it's space, but yet... Inside my writing table, piled so neatly in a drawer, are sheets of hungry paper.........begging me to write some more... |
