Once there was a page.
Blank
Not a word was written
no color was plausible.
Then the silent whisper of a pen
edged its way to the heart of the paper
and wrote.
'There are many things I have regretted,' spoke the pen.
'I have not yet fixed circumstances
with the people I have wronged.'
'But soon,' it continued,
'I will become new.'
Thus was the beginning of the paper again, a dot of ink not found.
The life of white started over and over,
words thought ought not to be uttered.
A hand in hand shall find the way
to the old tales.
A mix of many moons did bring a mind full of ache.
'Twas what we know now today as, 'writers block.'
YOU ARE READING
Poems as Strange as Llamas
PoetryA book of poems that are, Good and bad, Happy and sad. Loving and wondering. Hateful and pondering. Mysterious and curious. Angry and furious. Words from the heart, Each taking their part, To open the world, From the eyes of two girls.
