White.
Crisp.
Unmarked by ink or lead.
It shines, a blank canvas,
So beautiful and clean in its perfection.
How difficult to scar its surface-
To ruin its naivety.
And yet so necessary to write a thought.
How trivial, the paper.
How trivial, the thought.
_________________________
Another poem.
This one comes from a notebook that I used to write in all the time.
This is basically what happened each time I encountered a fresh page.
What a silly Inktress.
Hi Inktress. You left a message on my blog (call for blogging writers), and stated that you're a friend Jenita's. I am really sorry, but at the moment we probably can't have anyone join us. Since we have a worked out schedule of each person taking a day of the week... However, that is only at the moment. Maybe in the future? I'll keep following your blog and let you know if a chance comes up. ^^
ReplyDelete