The Empty Page
By: Wayne Brown
The candle wax hardens as the flame burns low
Trapped in its trickles with nowhere else to go
Shadows dance across the light as if on a stage
The writer at the table stares at the empty page
Words do not trickle as the heated wax of the candle
They are crafted, honed, shaped like a foot to sandal
Words have meaning; emotion to carefully gauge
Knowing this, the writer stares at the empty page
Words tangled in the vines of life’s little choices
Sounds that ring lonely from little children’s voices
Utterances love, hate, fear, calm, and colored rage
Hiding as the writer stares upon the empty page
The emotions hide like fish in waters’ darken depth
Not surfacing; not showing strands of emotion kept
Slinking in mental shadows eluding descriptive phase
Torturing the writer staring upon the empty page
Hours pass; time moves upon mechanical spring
Hand poised to write; mind wanting thoughts to bring
Time seemingly runs away rushing things to age
As the writer struggles for words on the empty page
Then a movement; small at first and very slow
A tilting of the head; the words come and flow
The hand strokes freely the wisdom of the sage
As the grateful writer inks words to the empty page
Low the candle burns dimmed by early morning light
Hours of dark pass while craftsman struggles to write
And with the morning comes release from the cage
As the writer smiles; happy with his ink upon the page
©Copyright WBrown2013. All Rights Reserved.
1 April 2013