A blank page
Of pristine white
Could be one of pure rage
Or could show us the light
It could be of someone’s dreams
One of equal rights
Or orders, it could stream
Of killing at first sight
It could be the story of a king
Throwing a ball
And him giving a ring
To that whose slipper would fall
It could be a book fit for the ages
In never forgotten single-spaced pages
Or the scribbles of crayon
From a child now gone
One day will be a new Shakespeare
But still,
We’re writing thoughts on paper with nothing to fear
In hopes that one day
People will hear.
Of pristine white
Could be one of pure rage
Or could show us the light
It could be of someone’s dreams
One of equal rights
Or orders, it could stream
Of killing at first sight
It could be the story of a king
Throwing a ball
And him giving a ring
To that whose slipper would fall
It could be a book fit for the ages
In never forgotten single-spaced pages
Or the scribbles of crayon
From a child now gone
One day will be a new Shakespeare
But still,
We’re writing thoughts on paper with nothing to fear
In hopes that one day
People will hear.



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