This space, left unintentionally blank,
longs for a downpour of dots
to fall into its empty belly,
laughing like a maniac on the loose,
a starving artist feasting
on an Eden of inspiration,
I have often been amused by those legal documents that include an “empty” page stamped with the line “this page left intentionally blank.” Sometimes I look back and find a page in my journal or an opened note in my computer that was left blank. One such incident served as inspiration for this poem: Unintentionally Blank.
longs to break out of the borders,
to fly off the screen at you,
to spill out onto the ground
under your feet, staining the world
with a rainbow of wonder,
to flow a river of words
that no words can describe
right through your astonished heart,
sweeping you clean, leaving you
your almost forgotten eyes
lit up once again on fire for life.
Anyone who has attempted the craft of writing, for any amount of time, will encounter those moments we call writer's block, when you look at the blank page and feel daunted by the task of putting words to life. Sometimes, it comes in the form of a complete absence, a kind of silence in the mind, as if you were in one of those moments when not a creature is stirring—not even a mouse. The house of words is dead silent. Then, there are those moments of struggle when you’re fighting for the right word or for the particular way of saying something that expresses what you want to say with beauty and grace. And every word that comes to mind does not seem to fit the bill. Such moments are challenging enough to scare away the uncommitted or less devoted writer. But those who have been bitten by the love of writing, or whose muse will not abandon them, push through the barrier, stripping away criteria and then pouring out, onto the page, one’s heart.
© Nick LeForce
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