Blank Page

She steers at
A blank page
Hearing its mocking laugh
Notebooks filled with tears
She couldn’t cry
But her words,
Her only outreach
Pencil to the page
Hoping it wouldn’t add
To a sea of crumbled balls
That circled her
All she held
Came out in those words
Her mind searched
She was trying to fill
This grave emptiness
That devoured and stole herself
Writing equaled freedom
Yet, what did she need,
Freedom from now?
That consumption’s agony
Was healed and gone
Ash and dust
With no rejuvenating force
She looked deep
Finding nothing
Just bitterness
Of life’s nasty taste
Empty was a page
So was she
Only a breeze of emotion
With no roots
Misery and agony
Were her life and feeling
Now serenity took its place
Not as strong
Nor, as filling
Distress filled her lungs
Fear overwhelmed
She had become dependent
On those words
Only if she could
Find them again
All that wisdom and creativeness
Posses her soul
Was it all lost now?
Taken like the rest?
Helpless at the thought
She turned it away
Unrealistically even so,
Every possible protection
Kept her writing safe
So she had thought
Desperately she tried
To prove herself wrong
Trying to grasp
In meaningless surroundings
In a meaningless life
A cry, a plea
Anything, something
Still she sat
At peace, but unnerved
Unwilling to face
The reality of having
No freedom and
No outreach
To not know
Who she was
This had to be
Some cruel joke
Her mind was playing
An empty page
Filled with nothing more,
Than these words.