Virgin Papers.

Clean white papers lay staring at me
waiting for my ink to stain its purity.
Laying there they mock me as my pen
reaches for it, but back away slowly
like a child now wanting to make a noise.

 

An idea come to mind brilliant as a blooming flower,
my pen gets ready, but then it is lost as the
papers’ gleam shines brighter than the flower.
There those clean white papers lay staring
At me as they mock me ever so merrily.