November 29, 2010
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If I left this page blank
Unmarked pristine without the blemishes
That my ideas have become
On its soul
It would tell you so much more about me
Than what I try to identify
With these fleeting, fickle creatures I call
That bind and constrict and force
An image that is ever incomplete
And imperfect a struggle
For a picture that is unobtainable
Within the cramped and ugly limits of my pen
Oh to soar beyond reality to create
The uncreatable the limitless
The beautiful
If only
I leave the page

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