Not much time to talk this evening. Here's one that I wrote last night...b/c I felt like it. It's the default topic, when I can't think of anything to write, I write about writing, you'll see this in time. So I really haven't read this yet, and I may or may not decide that I like it. Oh, well, I'm in a hurry, paper to write before tomorrow and all that. Wish me luck to get done.

(Couldn't Think of a Title)

A blank page is a void

All that empty whiteness

Begging to be filled

A dead world

Locked in barrenness

Clay without form

Mere potential without direction

Waiting for all eternity

Alone throughout the ages

Created for my hand

This is my purpose

To shape the shapeless

To fill the page with color and darkness

With the tiny mountains and valleys

That unlock galaxies in a whisper

Worlds untouched by any hand

People born of none but the mind

My mind

All ideas and thoughts lie hidden beyond

Out of comprehension until I come to claim them

And in reaching out give them form

Life of my thought, a window to worlds unknown

The malleable blankness my reality.