Something, Anything

Something, Anything

Lines on a page lay low
Faced with the weight of an empty soul
Who knew that a vacuum could feel so heavy
The crisp, 80gsm with its manufactured margin
Red-lined, perforated, lying in wait for
Some words of wisdom and still, all is still
A tiny, inky ball holds its position,
Millimetres from consummation
As it longs to ride rough across fibres
Leaving its trail of sworls and pointillation.
It has time, but cannot maintain stasis forever
The dark-dyed fluid already dessicates;
Its plastic, tubular support structure will decay,
From proud pen to pooled polymer
Even if it takes a thousand years,
Which it feels it might.
No notions, an absence of suppressed emotions
Passed wholesale to inspire a hand in motion.
The material world bides its time
Waiting for the laws of meta- and actual physics to align,
Biomechanics reacting to chemical triggers
Creating the symbols and shapes
That serve to communicate,
To connect one psyche to another
By way of ink on paper
Hand holding pen,
Guided by the movement of the eye.
A sigh, as still the sleeping muse shows
No sign of arriving.
A page once more passed by,
A moment, wry.