The War (Against the Paper)
I believe that white page is staring at me.
Sitting there, blank and mockingly.
I try to crumple it up, and walk away.
I am still staring at it, by the end of the day.
Writing is seduction of a word, to make it do what you want,
To describe the perfect character, tall, fat or gaunt.
Does the paper know the thought process it takes,
To stain it up with ink, the panic it creates?
I can’t help it though, writing is in my veins,
It is a war against the paper, every day, sun, sleet or rain.
(c) 2012 Nevea Lane